The Rules
by McStaken
Summary: Edward Nigma has forty-four rules to surviving Gotham's criminal underworld and all of them come with painful(ly obvious) lessons.
1. Rule 1

A/N: Welcome! This is quite possibly, Edward Nigma's nightmare. The premise is rather simple. Edward has forty-four rules to surviving Gotham's criminal underworld and each one comes with a lesson learned. The majority of these are funny one-shots, but they aren't exclusively for giggles. We've got Smug Edward, Cop Edward, Rogue Edward, something for everyone. Depending on my mood. Rules #1-#5 pertain to Edward Nashton before and during his transition into the Riddler. After that, it's a free for all.

Dead Switch, the faithful Riddler lackey will be giving her thoughts on the lesson at the end of the chapter as anecdotal commentary.

* * *

><p><strong>#1 Take the simplest route out of a building.<strong>

Oh well. This was just fantastic. Brilliant. All he needed. Who the hell knew that taking the left door instead of the right one would lead him the complete opposite way he wanted to go?

Do people know how to properly plan a building or are all architects constantly high? Well… this was a Pinkney building. It could be argued the man was strange before drugs entered his life. _Just what is his fascination with Gargoyles? The bloody things decorate his buildings inside and out! It beggars belief!_

A noise, the clattering shift of a bottle alerted him to their presence. Ugh. How utterly predictable. Gotham's finest. And now he was lost. In a Pinkney building. With some beat cops. The kind that shoot first and explain away the dead body later. He knew they did. Sometimes he helped them cover it up.

This was supposed to be a simple entrance and exit through the building to scout for possible server points but now, he'd hit a wrinkle.

The room appeared to be most recently used as storage. Containers and boxes piled towards the ceiling blotted most of the moonlight that shone through the high windows. Well, there was his escape, now if only he had enough light with which he could find his starting point-

'Musta been a false alarm Jim. There's no-one here.'

'The witnesses-'

'I don't care what the witnesses saw, witnesses never agree-'

He stood and fumed as the voices lazily drifted towards him. Of course the _one_ time he was hoping they would be too stupid and lazy to bother with a _proper_ investigation, they did.

His eyes restarted their search for a low point when the clouds above Gotham parted and illumined a heavily soiled and dust covered cloth overlaying something large.

Curiosity got the better of him and he approached. The cloth was stiff with dirt and effectively ruined his clothes but that took secondary precedent to the more pressing need not to be caught. The first few tugs barely shifted it, but the more it moved the easier it became until the cloth flopped to the ground and sprayed him with dust and mould.

For a second, he was blinded by the light that shone back at him and desperately tried to cover his watering, stinging eyes.

'-Can't we just file a section three "Unfounded Report" and call it the end?'

'Not until we search the entire building Frank. Those're our orders.'

'Shit, that'll take _forever_.'

As his eyes adjusted to the harsh light, he realised he was staring at his own reflection. Two brilliantly blue eyes shone out from a pale, almost grey face streaked with dark lines of dirt. Brown hair, bleached of all but a shred of colour stuck up at odd angles, coated finely in specks of dust. His glasses, while normally unused thanks to vanity issues were also obscured with particles. A lithe, slim frame turned this way and that as he examined the state of his favourite outfit.

Edward Nashton sighed. Frankly this wasn't how his criminal career was meant to be going and while he had expected parts would be grimy and certainly messy, he hadn't expected to be chased so far and so fast, not by the GCPD.

He suppressed a laugh. He was being chased by his own employers. There was irony.

Just why was this here? With the beams now scything through the darkness, he caught the edge of a stamp across a dusty box. Haly's Circus. Of course, this was being used as overflow storage. Moonbeams scythed through the darkness that interspaced the boxes and Edward found a likely looking box just the right height to climb. It wouldn't reach the window but all he had to do was climb the escalating pyramid of wooden frames to the window and freedom would be his.

The boxes were, if possible, filthier than the cloth of the mirror had been. He didn't care though. Within minutes he'd closed in on his escape route. _Maybe next time they'll catch me._ He thought as the knee of his favourite suit tore thanks to a badly placed nail. His shivering skin felt fat snowflakes as they lazily fell from the heavens. He snorted as he reached out to push the freezing glass further open. _I doubt that._

The shocking boom of a discharged gun rattled him as a chunk of plasterwork was effortlessly blown from the wall. 'Thought I didn't see you, bastard?!'

The sudden imbalance of weight all but caused him to slide headfirst out of the window. He owed his postponement with the ground to a well placed nail that had caught the torn fabric on his knee. Ominously, it was still tearing. It didn't take a man of his intellect to see what was going to happen next.

He dropped painfully into a snowdrift.

_Well fuck._

Now he was filthy, cold and wet. At least he hadn't been caught yet. That was the main thing. He could put up with some mud and blood to get away scot free.

'Hey- I heard something from outside!'

'He's somewhere out there!'

The voices drifted out of the building and down to him effortlessly and he idly anagrammed a curse.

Being a criminal was a lot more frustrating and annoying than he'd every thought possible but as his bloody knee twinged and his back ached as he lurched into the darkness again, he had to give a small smirk.

They had no idea what was coming.


	2. Rule 2

**#2 Alliances never last**

Edward was desperate to hold onto his temper, it was quite a temper at that. Many bridges and then whole cities of relationships had been burned to cinders thanks in part to his famous temper.

He hated his temper, hated it when his intelligence took a sidestep to rage, not because it was a brutish lump of cells somewhere in the back of his amygdala, no. It was because in a rage he was told, he looked so much like his father which only served to enrage him further. He was nothing like his father and the mere suggestion that he was made bludgeoning himself half to death almost appealing.

It flared at the simplest of things. It could have been the dirty dishes in the sink, or the smell of unwashed socks that pervaded the home of Arthur Brown, but it wasn't.

For once, just once, Edward had gotten his hopes up, only for them to be dashed on the sharp, ever unforgiving rocks of reality.

He thought someone finally understood him, understood his drive and compulsions, but ultimately that was proven wrong.

'Edward, I know you're upset-' Arthur began.

'Upset?' Edward echoed hollowly. 'No Arthur, I'm furious.'

'I have a daughter, Edward! I have to protect my interests-'

'Interests?' Now there was only the slightest tremble of anger that ran through his words. 'Let me tell you something about protecting interests, Arthur. I have sacrificed almost everything to get where I am today. I've killed people and blackmailed and I've-'

'You don't have a daughter!' Arthur fumed. 'If you did you'd understand! It was fun at first Edward, Like a gameshow but I just can't keep doing it anymore. She's ashamed of me! Ashamed that her father steals money and spends it on her!'

'And you…Went to the police?' Edward was flabbergasted at his stupidity. Of course, he hadn't told the man everything about him, only that he worked in a public office when he wasn't planning crimes and of course, his interest in committing crimes was purely financial, a few other half-truths and lies aside, but that wasn't the problem.

_The problem is – Has he given the police my name?_

'What did you tell them?' Edward snarled.

Edward Nigma was completely capable of erasing both people and crimes from the police database, he'd done it before after all but usually he expected to be paid in the end and it was never _his_ crimes he was erasing.

But this was a wrinkle and if Edward hated anything, it was a problem in his perfect little world of plans.

'Cluemaster,' He sighed and used the man's alter-ego _if that's what you can call it._ He thought in disgust. 'What did you tell them?'

'I told them….I told them…' The man seemed to wilt under Edward's glare. 'I told them nothing Edward.'

'Nothing?' Edward could be forgiven for feeling reticent or disbelieving.

'No.' Arthur uttered quietly.

Well. Maybe this wasn't such a failure after all. If he hadn't spoken to Edward's employers, then they probably still had no idea he'd been doing some very naughty things.

Because if cops hated anything more than drug pushers and gangsters, it was anyone who dirtied the uniform. That kind of hypocrisy was widespread in the GCPD. It was something you could depend on. The people in charge were corrupt, but corruption in their officers was unspeakable.

Still, Arthur needed to be seen to. He couldn't blabber about Edward to anyone.

He'd arrived in his traditional attire, a sweater and pinstripe trousers, but he still carried his gun.

Every policeman had to have a gun and Edward was no exception. For someone who never saw active duty, he had the highest marks in the shooting range. He made it his mission to be perfect at everything put before him and to his disappointment…Perfect was easy.

Perhaps that was why he migrated towards the GCPD. Crime was a puzzle and puzzles fascinated him. They had for as long as he could remember. They weren't immediately easy, they were a hard slog.

From then on Edward was sold. His passion became an obsession.

It was far too easy to subdue Arthur, all things considered. He certainly wasn't expecting it and Edward had the advantage of height.

Edward forced the smaller man onto the couch and used a pillow as an impromptu silencer.

He hardly felt remorse, Arthur was after all, an attention-seeker. Which was what attracted Edward to him in the first place. On his own, he was a petty criminal, hardly on Batman's calibre but using him as a shield, Edward could go about unmolested. His crimes were pegged as that of Cluemasters.

He hadn't anticipated the kinship of having someone almost like him, but in the end, it was proven that Arthur was weak.

Edward sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Funny, really. He expected to be much more emotional when he finally did shoot and kill someone but he was oddly calm.

He was able to rationalize what he'd done and accept it rather easily.

The problem was…He'd used his police-issued gun. If they found that bullet it would be almost as bad as Arthur going to the police. With a sigh he walked into the kitchen and pulled a knife from the block.

Alliances never last.

* * *

><p>AN: Switch here. I've been drafted in to comment on Edward's little rules. Ew, ick. Digging bullets out of brains, it's a messy business when there's so much soft flesh involved. Yay for shooting someone, I guess?

Nigma's freakin' scary sometimes when he thinks logically. Far more dangerous than simply being in a rage.


	3. Rule 3

**#3 Always have a backup plan**

It spread like wildfire through the forensics department. _That bastard Enigma is among us._

People openly whispered it in the corridors and various break rooms of the GCPD. It was impossible to put to rest and Edward Nashton, the head of the Cyber Crime Unit heard it told at least three times before he'd even gotten to his desk. Twelve before he'd finished his first coffee of the day.

_Pretending to be one of us!_

_That traitorous bastard! _

_Should be lynched!_

All that was being let out was that Internal Affairs were confident an arrest would be made soon.

_Good luck with that._ Edward thought smugly. _You idiots couldn't possibly know who it is. _

Although, now that he thought about it…The day was not normal. It was something he couldn't quite put his finger on. People seemed to be watching the clocks a little closer than normal. Like something was about to happen.

Edward wouldn't be anything if he weren't appropriately paranoid.

He ever so casually looked up and over his computer monitor. His office was a Spartan, clinical environment. No pictures, no novelty items, no personal effects. But it was pretty open on the floor.

How many times had he done this? Too many, always during the late night when it was only ever him left. Now, he was going to do it in broad daylight, surrounded by cops no less.

It wasn't hard to hack into the higher level computers, it was child's play to run a sweep and net the file he was looking for and only a computer illiterate buffoon like the head of internal affairs would have his password as 'Ponyplay' Which frankly made it impossible for Edward to look the man in the face again without cracking some kind of joke in future.

'Persons of interest in regards to ENIGMA.'

There was only one name on the list. His. He skimmed through the file expertly as rage threatened to break his icy calmness.

It was infuriating enough that they'd worked out it had been him who had almost brought the city to it's knees but even more infuriating that the possibility was recommended by _Batman._

Oh he was going to teach that meddling Dork Knight a lesson he would never forget if it was the last thing he did, but first Edward Nashton needed to get the hell out of dodge.

He unlocked the file drawer of his desk, something that he had never been seen using and opened it up. Unsurprisingly, there were no files, however there was a little green question mark on a stand- a prototype as it turned out- and below that were several pounds of RDX that should have _technically_ been in evidence lock-up. It was the work of a few moments to arrange the bomb and close the drawer. If he'd calculated correctly –And Edward was never wrong- It should be just enough to blow the entire floor and kill everyone he'd ever worked with.

He carefully arranged the trophy in a way that garnered maximum view for the tiny little fisheye in the tittle and picked up his coffee mug. For all intensive purposes, he looked like a man on the hunt for caffeine as he approached the stairs, careful to stay out of sight of the elevators.

On the next floor, he dumped the mug on someone's desk and strolled almost nonchalantly towards the exit.

Long ago he'd clocked the sweep of the cameras and if timed just perfectly, his exit could go unseen.

Sometimes, he wondered what life is like without contingency plans.

Chaotic and full of surprises he supposed. Edward hated surprises and he hated chaos but Batman was quickly overtaking both of those to be the thing he hated most of all.

He waited in one of his favourite cafes for someone to make a move. A finger trailed up and down the pristine cup of his espresso patiently; The accompanying muffin untouched. He was much too engrossed to eat, his eyes never left his phone.

_This_ was excitement. _This _was living on the edge. Although it would have been much more fun to tease them with a puzzle about what he intended to do, he didn't have time. An utter shame, that.

He saw a flicker of movement in the lens of the camera and felt his breath halt as the shape moved. Something was happening. Unfortunately the prototype's camera wasn't as high tech as he'd like, all he could see past its ideal depth were blobs. He needed them closer.

He began breathing again as the cautious shapes moved closer and lamented that he hadn't included a microphone in the design. He wanted to taunt his colleagues turned victims. He wanted to converse and hear their frustrations about how they _nearly_ caught him. _The next one._ He promised himself. The next one will have a microphone. Or maybe just a simple recording. He could put his riddles on them and wind the damn Bat up a little more. It was brilliant.

Unconsciously, he wondered when his breathing became heavier and when he began to pick up all the smells around him. It was the hidden work of adrenaline, responding to his excitement.

_Which little idiot is unwary enough to come to investigate my little trap?_

Oh Edward was going to teach them exactly who they were messing with. They needed to get in closer; he wanted to see their _faces._

Suddenly, they backed away. Wary, afraid. What had gone wrong? What had tipped them off?

His heart rate suddenly skyrocketed as a dark figure stepped out from behind the desk.

Batman.

_Blow it; blow it now while I have the chance!_

He pressed the detonate button on his phone and braced for the sounds of utter carnage but nothing happened.

_What?_

He pressed it again and again, each time becoming more and more frustrated that his bomb had not detonated.

He watched the smug visage of Batman hold up the crushed receiver and lost all semblance of control.

'That goddamn Bat!'

The taste of victory all but soured in his mouth as he swept an arm across the table in sheer fury; porcelain shattered on the floor and menus flew as stormed out to the shock of the staff and patrons.

They had his computer now. Oh it would have nothing of great use to them on it, but that wasn't the point. The point was to make it clear he was not to be underestimated and Batman patently _hadn't_. He shouldn't have tried to be showy; he should have had a back-up plan.

The next time, he would ensure his plans were fulfilled. One way or another.

* * *

><p><em>AN: It's Dead Switch again, folks. As Edward learned, so many people have tried to blow Batman up that by now he kind of expects it I guess. Still, that's no reason to disappoint him now is it? Oooh Lookit that, it's a prototype trophy! You would not believe the gadgets he's stuffed into these over the years. Microphones, C4, poison…You name it; it's been in one of those little beauties. Oh and a tittle is the dot on the bottom of a question mark. Yeah, you pick a lot of that sort of thing up…_


	4. Rule 4

**#4 Don't underestimate the enemy.**

Edward sat on the low bench of his cell and brooded. He had no idea how Batman had found him so _quickly_ but he must have cheated. No-one is _that_ good. No-one just barges into a tiny, pokey little flat on the roof of a partially subsided tenement building in lower Gotham, a shed-like add-on that couldn't be seen through the forest of chimney stacks and rusted units without prior knowledge and he _damn well did_.

Edward was furious about that, far more than being torn out of his blazing hideout thanks to some flammable material, loose wiring and the chaos that comes with a winged vigilante breaking down the door.

He spent some time attempting to correct the abysmal spelling of the graffiti that littered the walls before even that bored him.

This wasn't exactly what he had in mind for his career, even when he became ENIGMA and of course he revelled in his nickname, what man wouldn't? Enigma had such a good sound to it he'd considered using it as his nom de plume. Enigma. E. Nigma. What a witty coincidence. He simply had to use that at some point after his escape. Just as soon as he figured out how he was going to escape. From inside the cell it seemed a mountainous task.

Although, the mountain began to seem far less insurmountable than he'd first thought. Footsteps pounded the uselessly shined tile outside his cell and he heard keys jangling. The turn of tumblers as the door was unlocked dragged his attention away from "Gus's a wanka"

He had expected lawyers and doctors trying to "Assess" him for mental deficiency. Of course, they'd find none but they were always willing to look in any case. The people on the other end of the door, however, weren't academics looking for their next big turnaround. They were all cops and they, each to a man, looked malevolent in their intent.

'Turn around Nashton.' The one with the keys spoke menacingly.

Unrepressed, Edward smirked as he did as he was told. This was so much better than what he'd hoped.

They were going to take him out of the station and beat him to a pulp.

* * *

><p>'Are you sure this is such a good idea?' The youngest and by his apprehension, newest recruit asked uncertainly as Edward sat in the back of a police car, flanked on either side by angry uncooperative cops. The newbie in the passenger seat upfront looked pale and worried as he spoke to the driver. 'Someone's bound to find out!' He begged.<p>

'Nobody's going to miss him for an hour or two.' The driver responded calmly. 'Besides, that riddling traitor tried to blow up the GCPD. He has it coming.'

'Yeah but taking him out into the Narrows to beat the snot out of him, is that such a good idea?'

'Shut up, Howard. You don't need to participate, just keep an eye out while we teach Nashton a lesson.' The cop on his right supplied.

'I just don't think taking justice into our own hands like this is-' Howard began again.

'Shut up, Howard!' This time it was a lot more aggressive and the meek man was forced to be silent.

While his right escort raged at the coward in front, Edward gently slipped his hand into the man's pants pocket.

His questing fingers came out without a key but with something just as good. A paperclip.

'I'm just saying-' Howard really was going for gold in the wretched department.

Edward couldn't help himself. He had to antagonize further, purely for his own amusement.'Don't worry _Howard_, I'll be fine.'

'Shut up Nashton!' The angry cop on his right supplied and pulled his gun from it's holster. Within a fraction of a second he'd pistol whipped him. Blood streamed and pain seared across his nose as the driver noted what was going on in the back.

'Oi Jacobs! Not in the damn car!' The driver snapped.

'He had it coming!' The angry Jacobs snapped back.

Edward bent and laughed himself hoarse as blood steadily spread over the upholstery which only seemed to infuriate his abductors even further. With the cops distracted by all the DNA he was pouring in the car, Edward took the opportunity to unfurl the makeshift pick and ready it. As he'd hoped and expected, Jacobs didn't like his reaction. 'Pull the fuck over Gary, we're gonna do this, _now_.'

The car screeched to a halt at the entrance to a dead-end alleyway and Edward was dragged out.

It didn't take a genius of his intellect to see where this was about to go. His fingers scrabbled behind his back to insert the pick into the cuffs as three of the four officers advanced on him.

_Attacking a man with his hands cuffed behind his back. What cowards._ Edward sneered. Still, He could hardly begrudge them their advantage. _Temporary advantage._ He corrected himself. _As soon as I get these damn cuffs off-_

He became increasingly worried as they came closer. Nightsticks were pulled from their holsters. One extended fully in swift movement, the other remained sheathed but just as deadly as it's comrade.

'You not scared Nashton? You soon will be.' Jacobs snarled. 'And hurtin' too.'

'What scares me far more than your little stick is your grasp of the English language.' He shot back. Whatever his intentions, it only served to rile his abductors further and with some renewed determination they approached. The pick manipulated the tumblers of the cuffs with increasing speed. He would have liked to have his hands free before they landed a blow but at the rate they were moving towards him and the painfully slow process of tricking the cuffs into thinking he had the key, Edward knew that he'd at least be given one or two blows.

He noted a black shape darting between the tiles of the roof above him as his cuffs finally unlocked. His smirk widened into a full blown laugh as the two corrupt cops came within striking distance. The metal of the extended nightstick whipped across his face and aggravated the injury to his nose just as Batman dropped down on top of them.

The corrupt cops immediately had their attention diverted and Batman had his hands full. When was he ever going to get a better getaway? If Batman noticed Edward legging it around the scuffle and over the bonnet of the car with the cuffs dangling from one wrist, he never indicated it.

'Stop, criminal!' Howard the terrified cop had, though. He'd managed to pull his gun out and was aiming for Edward with alarmingly steady aim.

'Shoot me then.' He laughed and took off at a run in a spirited attempt to get as far from the scene of the fight as possible. The young police officer simply watched him skid around a corner and cursed.

Edward knew the Narrows well; this time he was going to get as far from Batman's last known location as fast as possible. Of course young Howard would never have shot him. Edward knew bent cops and policemen on the take and Howard didn't seem that kind of officer. He was, however, probably on the radio to the GCPD about what had just happened and Edward was determined to be on the opposite side of the city by the time they uncovered the full story and realised they were a criminal down.

Still, the lesson had been learned. Don't underestimate your enemy. This time, he wasn't going to underestimate Batman. This time, he was going to make a conscientious effort to stay ahead of the Dork Knight and avoid capture. He wasn't going to waste a golden opportunity.

Thank god for self-righteous brotherhoods and their deluded sense of justice.

* * *

><p><em>I'm sure we're all thinking the same thing here: Run Edward, run! Ah bent cops. You can depend on scum like that. I think this is the earliest example of the strategy of allowing himself to get a kicking in exchange for freedom, to good effect. Still, Batman doing all the work for him was a nice touch. <em>

A/N: What is this? I don't even- Fail. Here's a tip: There's a difference between editing for improvement and editing the point out. I think I succeeded in the latter. Still, we're slowly starting to see the Edward we all known and love. :D

I love you guys and I love your reviews and I especially love how much you love my crappy version of Edward. I do read and appreciate my reviews but I always forget to reply to them. I'm totally not ignoring you guys! Promise!


	5. Rule 5

**#5 Appearances can be deceiving.**

Edward Nashton – Soon to be Nigma if the courts had finally gone through that tedious paperwork – Had spent quite a while on the lamb as they say. After that little incident at the GCPD and being hunted to a police cell by Batman he was then given the opportunity to run thanks to some corrupt officers of the law, Edward spent numerous months avoiding Batman at all costs.

The Bat was dangerous, but Edward had plans for that. _Had._ Once again it had all gone up in smoke. It was almost a rehash of their last match. Batman appearing suddenly at his oh so impossible to find hideout and dragging him out of his burning lair, although this time he never did know how _exactly_ it burned down.

There were no cops bent on retribution to help him escape and no other avenue presented itself, unfortunately. Which meant Edward was forced to go along with the abysmal clutter of outdated laws that passed as justice. Rather unsurprisingly, he was deemed insane.

Edward was incarcerated in Arkham Asylum alongside the gibbering, the senile, and the psychotic. It was infuriatingly humiliating for him. He wasn't insane, but if Arkham's reputation were true, he soon would be.

Patently they had no idea who they were dealing with; they'd placed him with the main population. The people who muttered to themselves, who were too terrified by the things they couldn't see to be bothered by the things they could and those too catatonic to do much more than eat and sleep.

_If they expect me to rot here for all eternity they are mistaken._ Edward Sneered. _I could break out of here within a week!_

'Well, well. I heard they were bringing someone new in.'

His head snapped up at the sound of a bored but intelligent voice drifting from the opposite end of the corridor. Cautiously, he unwound himself from the bed and approached the tiny bars set into his door.

Edward was well aware he was in a mental facility and appearances can quite often be misleading but after a few hours on his own, he would talk to anyone intelligent enough to hold a decent conversation. Even if that someone wore a colander on their head and declared themselves the high priest of Pastafarians.

'Who are you?' He asked suspiciously. _If he mutters one senile phrase, I'm just going to ignore him. _

'Doctor Jonathan Crane.' The voice replied with heavy emphasis on the word _Doctor._ 'Suffice to say I've been desperate for decent conversation for months. They say you're a genius which _sounds_ promising.'

'Oh?' Edward muttered uncommitted to discussion. 'What are you a doctor of, Crane?'

There was a pause as Edward waited for his answer. Crane sighed heavily as though coming to some sort of conclusion. 'Psychology.'

'Ha!' The laugh escaped his lips before he could stop it, but the irony was just too delicious. A psychologist in a mental facility, not as doctor but as patient.

The voice took on an edge that had not been there before Crane's admittance. 'Yes, the irony is not lost on me.' He snapped. 'I assure you it was not my intention to be incarcerated here but those fools in the courthouse seem to agree that I'm insane.' He added bitterly.

_Well so far he hasn't tried to cleanse me with holy spaghetti or uttered a word of pure fantasy. _Edward thought to himself. _Still, there are ways to hide your insanity._

'Exactly why did they think you were insane?' He asked curiously.

'I _may_ have dabbled in illegal research and developed a compound that stimulated the fear centre of the brain.' Crane muttered flippantly. 'It's not that I'm addicted to using it!'

Edward leaned against his door; arms folded and easily crossed one leg over the other. 'Of course not.' He soothed as he laughed inwardly. _Fear compound? The man __**is**__ insane._

'I can prove it.' Crane muttered darkly as though well aware of Edward's thoughts on the validity of his sanity.

'Can you now?' Edward smirked. He really should just end all communication but this was the most decent chat he'd had since being re-arrested.

'We help each other;' Crane deadpanned 'we can escape together.'

That got Edward's attention. Escape? Definitely. With a nut-job like Crane? Debateable. Although, if they were caught, Edward could always throw Crane to the wolves and use his extended time to escape. His brilliant brain never failed to come up with something.

'Say I'm interested.' Edward muttered. 'How exactly would this work?'

'It's rather simple. I have the codes for the cells but after my last attempt, they made sure I was unable to reach the keypad. However, with a little ingenuity you should be able to reach yours. I'll tell you the codes if and _only_ if you use them to open my cell.'

'After your last attempt?' Edward chortled delightedly.

'I may have tried to gas the entire asylum before leaving and dallied a little too long.' Crane admitted.

This time Edward was prepared for the laugh trying to squirm out of his mouth. 'Of course, of course. It happens to us all. Why, if I'd have known Batman was in the GCPD I'd have blown my little bomb before he broke the receiver.'

'Batman? That insufferable, brutish lump is the reason I'm incarcerated in here!'

Suddenly, Edward felt less inclined to poke fun at Crane. Their common ground was a surprising one. 'Batman? Batman put you in here?'

'Yes. And when I get my hands on him he'll know fear!' Crane snapped menacingly.

'Why don't you tell me those codes, Crane?'

'Believe me now?' Crane's tone was mocking which usually would have riled Edward but today, with Crane, he could forgive it.

'Let's just say I'm willing to bank on the possibility.' He muttered. 'You were the one in the burlap mask, weren't you?' His memory brought to mind a malnourished figure in a burlap hood with gas mask poking through. 'What did you call yourself?'

'Call me Scarecrow.' Crane's voice took a darker turn. He rattled off a series of numbers as Edward stretched an arm out of the tiny window and down to the keypad. With touch alone he succeeded in typing in the numbers. A low buzz broke the silence as his door unlocked.

Crane was incarcerated in the cell opposite his. Edward approached cautiously and began typing out the list of numbers Crane had given him. At the sound of the keystrokes, two startlingly cold eyes turned to look at him.

This could be the start of a beautiful partnership. Crane seemed intelligent even with his little failing and lord knows Edward did not know many people of his intellect. Finding one in an insane asylum was perhaps especially strange. If he had not indulged Crane, he would have assumed him to be absolutely bonkers.

Appearances can be deceiving.

* * *

><p><em>Aww Edward's not the same without his bestie. Don't you just love how Batman can bring people together in mutual hatred? Knowing Edward, he would have left Scarecrow to rot and skipped off into the sunset to cause mayhem on his own, but Jonny had a similar goal in mind and Edward was feeling generous<em>._ after all, the bat did burn down his hideouts, twice.__ It worked out well for the both of them, don't you agree?_

A/N: You'll be seeing Scarecrow pop up on a semi-regular basis in this series because they're total besties. THEY TOTALLY ARE. I simply love Edward and Jonathan's reactions to one-another.

Oh and there really are Pastafarians and they really do wear colanders on their heads as the symbol of office. Not quite sure about Holy Spaghetti, consider it a bit of artistic licence. Personally I would love to see them fight it out with the Church of Cthultu but that's one for my own sick fantasies. Hail Flying Spaghetti Monster, mortals!

PPS: I finally garnered enough courage to read this to my boyfriend who declared it perfect, even the weird bits on religion. Boyfriend approved! Booyah!


	6. Rule 6

**#6 Joker's plans often change.**

Edward Nigma considered himself an unhindered genius. The state considered him an unhinged psycho. It was something they clashed with frequently. The government and their labels. Though in relative terms, he was eclipsed enormously by many other psychos and their undisputed king of madness, Joker.

Unfortunately, one cannot get by in Gotham's criminal underworld without having one or two dealings with the clown.

'Joker, _where are you?_' Edward hissed into his phone. He was far from happy with the clown to begin with and technically should have been wrapped up in his favourite chair by the monitors dreaming of money and fame. Instead, he was standing in the freezing wastes of the docks, waiting on Joker. 'I've left you a dozen messages you smiling simpleton. You had better get back to me!' Edward snarled and flipped his phone closed.

He hated Joker. No, he _loathed_ that giggling grandstander. Joker couldn't distinguish friend from foe, or maybe he just didn't want to. He'd alter plans at the last second just to make things more entertaining and he had no qualms about killing anyone. At all. Even other rogues.

It wasn't just his total lack of thought for those around him that bothered Edward, oh no. It was that somehow, some way, Joker considered them _friends._ Whether or not that was better or worse than Edward's current position remained to be seen.

Occasionally, Joker would call him with some _totally_ hypothetical situations that Edward would idly watch play out on the late night news which sometimes could be a decent distraction but after the last time Joker called him, Batman had traced the call and effectively hauled him into custody alongside Joker.

That had been a horrifying ride. Never again. He swore he wasn't going to stick his neck out for that demented man again and he'd made that clear at the time.

So how exactly did he end up at the docks in the wee hours of the morning, calling him?

Edward grumbled, mainly because he would have preferred to be warmer than what the late autumn night offered. Even with the thickness of his coat, the wind still managed to rob him of much sought warmth.

_If Joker doesn't show up soon I'm going home and this time I really am never answering another of his damn calls again._ Edward seethed.

Just as he was about to call it a day and head back he heard the distinctive screech of tyres. It seemed Joker was on his way after all, causing his usual mayhem on the way. That damn clown had no concept of stealth or knowledge of the phrase _under the radar. _It was loud or louder. Yet another reason Edward loathed the man.

The car drifted around the corner of the warehouse, or at least attempted to; the front end took quite a lot of sheet metal and concrete with it which broke a headlight in the process. It spun out and idled as its one remaining bulb lit up Edward's unhappy silhouette.

A beat of silence passed as Edward waited impatiently for Joker to crawl out of the wrecked motor. On cue, the crumpled door opened and the guffawing idiot poured himself onto the slick concrete of the docks. He laughed all the harder when he realised he had landed in a pile of carelessly discarded entrails and was struggling to stand. 'Eddie! Glad you could make it!'

'I left a dozen messages Joker.' Edward snarled icily.

'Whoops! Afraid I'm in the market for a new phone!' Joker cackled. 'Batsy put paid to my contract.'

Why didn't that surprise him?

'Well it's no wonder I spun out! Do you think they _ever_ clean the fish guts from the floor?' Joker giggled, still attempting to get some purchase on the oily concrete.

Judging from the smell, Edward had to go with _never_. It was worse than Croc's smell and _he_ lived in the sewers. The faster Edward found out why Joker had dragged him down here the faster he could go home and take an exceedingly hot shower, although he had a terrible suspicion that the smell wouldn't come out with just one go around. As for his clothes…

_Joker had better have a good reason for this. _

'Why did you threaten to bomb my hideout, Joker?' Edward sighed.

'I knew you wouldn't see me face to face Eddie! Cooped up in front of all those Tv's _can't_ be good for you!'

'_Joker_.' Edward replied testily.

'Oh fine, you're such a spoilsport, ya know that Riddles?' Joker pouted.

'_Don't call me that_.'

Now he remembered the biggest reason for hating the clown. _By god, Joker drives my blood pressure up. He delights in poking at my temper and seeing the reaction and never gets bored of it._

'I need you to keep the Bat entertained.' Joker finally admitted.

Edward had no idea what to say to that, at least nothing good and nothing that didn't come with some curse attached. Joker knew how he felt on the subject. In the end, he chose to say nothing.

'I can't go back to the asylum Eddie-boy! Harley's there! You'd help a man escape the ol' ball and chain, won't you?' Joker begged, although begged was the wrong word, snorted and guffawed was more like it.

_Joker not wanting to see Harley?_ This was much too intriguing to ignore; especially considering he'd been dragged down to the docks, a little fun at Joker's expense wouldn't hurt.

'Relationship troubles, Joker?' He mocked. The shrewd, calculating look Joker threw him told him all he ever needed to know. 'What happened?'

'Plans often change.' The clown replied darkly. He finally succeeded in pulling himself up with the aid of the car and sauntered towards Edward. With every step the reek of rotting fish increased. 'I _tried_ to tell her that there was only time for one of us to escape but you know women! _Ya just don't want me around Mistah J, I know when I'm unwanted, Red'll know how I feel_!' Joker mimed Harley's shrill, nagging voice and roared with laughter. 'I hear Ivy's threatened to make me _biodegradable_!'

_If he gets any closer I'm going to have to burn my clothes_. Edward thought disgustedly.

'I won't help you anymore Joker, after the last time.' Edward reminded him.

'Like I said Eddie-boy. Plans change.' In the few seconds of Edward's lapse concentration, Joker had succeeded in grabbing one of his wrists and slapped a cuff onto it. He fastened the other to the rusted railing of the docks.

'What the _hell_, Joker?!' Edward snarled as Joker dodged out of his reach and laughed.

'Like I said Eddie! I need you to distract Batsy for just a little while. I don't want to have to deal with Harley just yet.' With some ceremony, Joker reached behind his back and pulled what looked like a little blinking bat from his coat. He laughed and stuck it to Edward's forehead before dodging the scything cane.

'You asshole, Joker! Get back here!' Edward screamed after his retreating form.

With a jaunty wave, Joker disappeared into the gloom.

_He can't just- He did __**not**__ just- _ Edward was flabbergasted by Joker's actions but his inner survivalist snapped him out of his shock.

_Batman was chasing him. Batman was on his way here, now. _

Scrambling frantically, Edward reached up and pulled the slim device from his forehead. With a grunt he threw it on the floor and stomped on it. That should effectively end the signal and give him a little more time. Next, he twisted the head of the cane to reveal a hidden compartment with a lockpick safely inside.

_I knew that would come in handy one of these days!_ He grinned triumphantly and inserted the pick into the lock. _When I get my hands on Joker, giggling will be the last thing he does!_

No doubt Batman was already homing in on the last known broadcast and he was nothing if not focused when it came to Joker running amok. There was no way that winged git was going to catch him like this. Edward was not going to admit Joker had caught him out. That was simply absurd!

The pick rattled around the lock as he struggled with the mechanism.

_I'm going to design a deathtrap just for Joker. One he won't possibly walk away from. _Edward fumed. _That ought to wipe the smirk from his face._

He'd just succeeded in freeing himself when the swish of fabric and Batman's low gravelly tone cut through his savage triumph and plans for revenge. 'Well, well. Riddler. Working with Joker now?'

Edward was going to_ get_ Joker for this.

* * *

><p><em>Joker can be sneaky on occasion. Sneaky isn't the same as stealthy. Still, luring Edward to the docks to give Batman something to chase just cause you don't want to see your girlfriend? Nasty but hey- Joker's plans often change. On a somewhat related note: Edward did get Joker back for his assholery. It involved one of his very special deathtraps, balance, and Batman. I have the tape to prove it. Obviously neither died. Pity. Two birds with one stone. <em>

A/N: You guys would not believe how much fun I had writing this. Thank you to everyone who faved/reviewed/followed The Rules! My, did I get quite a pleasant shock with the boom in my inbox and we're not even a quarter of the way through! xD

P.S: Why is Joker both entertaining and difficult to write? *headdesk* This is the last pre-prepared one, expect slower updates in future and continued fun at the expense of one Edward Nigma.

Enjoy~!


	7. Rule 7

**#7 Trust no-one.**

Edward hated crowds; there was something about having too many people in one room that brought back bad memories. He also hated coming into contact with other rogues and, come to that, intoxication. Alcohol did awful things to your body and mind.

Suffice to say the Iceberg was not topping his list of favourite venues and yet, against all his morals, he was at the bar drinking whiskey.

Oh lord he'd forgotten how unpleasant neat spirits can be when you're still sober. The stuff burned all the way down and he'd never forget the aftertaste. Thankfully, it was quiet in the rogues bar tonight. Most of the troublemakers had run into Batman and Joker was banned from every inch of Cobblepot's precious nightclub.

It was just him at the bar, drinking. Pretending to socialize. Trying not to think of that incident in fourth grade with Nancy and that huge crowd-

_Good god, I'm a grown man! A rogue of Arkham! The damn Riddler!_ It was the whiskey, wasn't it? It was bringing up some unpleasant things.

_Like that time Drew Pennyright broke my nose. _He thought morosely. _Our peers cheering him on. _Edward sneered into his drink and gulped the last disgustedly. _All because I made him look like the Neanderthal he patently was. _

To hell with human interaction. He might as well go home and spend the night trolling the CIA for giggles. That never failed to make him feel better.

He was just about to gather his coat and hat when the doors burst open to admit Two-Face.

Fantastic. Dent. It wasn't that Edward hated him on the same platform as Joker, no-one can match his hate for the clown except possibly Batman but The Man of Duality could cause such a damn headache. One side would agree with you, the other wouldn't. There was no winning with Two-Face. He really didn't want an extended chat with a stomach full of whiskey. If he gathered up his things quickly enough-

'Edward.'

Too late. Edward sank into his seat and cursed his sluggish, inebriated movements. 'Harvey.' He nodded as the man took the stool on his left. 'I thought you were in Arkham.'

'I was.' Dent grinned in that sinister way of his. As per usual, whatever one side did, the other did the opposite. The good corner of his mouth turned up, the scarred corner turned down.

'Oh I see. Particularly difficult, was it?' Edward asked.

'Not at all. They're getting lax.' Dent smirked. 'I'm celebrating the breakout.'

'Oh, good for you.' Edward nodded. He was just about to make his excuses and depart; it was on the tip of his tongue-

'You'll celebrate with me, won't you Nigma?'

Excuses trotted onto his tongue but a quick glance around produced few people in the rogues bar.

There was Captain Stingaree, and a forest of rum bottles in one corner. The ever delusional Maxie Zeus in another, muttering to himself and translating ancient Greek between sips of an extremely small glass of the final corner like the last link in a chain of dismal evidence, was Otis who was only sometimes known as The Ratcatcher feeding the scraps of a burger that was probably not his to the rats that followed him everywhere. Pathetic. It was a jamboree of petty costumed criminals. All the big boys – That was everyone but Edward and now Harvey – Had much deeper problems, things that wouldn't be cured by a stiff drink and a rant.

Damn. He was socially obliged to stay and entertain him. He could plead business-

'Drinks are on us.'

Well in that case…

He retook his seat and called over the gutless little sputum that Cobblepot had on the bar.

* * *

><p>Edward's return to consciousness was painful and gradual. His head <em>ached<em>. It pounded against his skull.

He was back in his hideout, in his beloved computer chair, with dozens of bottles strewn around his monitors.

_What had happened last night? _He'd agreed to toast Harvey's escape and they'd done shots…

Why did he believe it was such a good idea to drink so much alcohol? He was dangerously dehydrated and in need of something, anything to get rid of the throbbing pain behind his eyeballs.

Trying to stand was difficult. He'd torn his trousers at some point; they were encrusted with what smelled like stagnant water. He brought his arm up to wipe a hand down his face and noticed the dozens of rubber stampings.

Something was on his monitors; the web browser was open on YouTube. He struggled to read the bold headline.

"Drunk Rogues go on a rampage."

Oh god it wasn't…

He had to know how bad it was.

A few seconds of watching determined it wasn't merely bad, it was a horrendous display of dignity wrecking buffoonery.

This was Dent's fault.

He eventually found his phone; it was sitting in one waterlogged pocket. Ruined.

For the love of Christ-

One hand threw the useless technology into the bin, his other hand reached for a large drawer on the left of his chair. It opened to reveal dozens of similar looking phones. He rummaged around and grabbed the first his fist closed on.

The banging headache made him think it was a simply terrible idea to talk to Two-Face, but since the rogue should be on a similar level of pain to Edward, it made him less likely to give pain for fear of receiving it.

'Ngghh- Who's this?' Good. He sounded ready to die. Karma deos it's work once again.

'It's Nigma you insufferable oaf!' Edward snapped.

'Not so loud!' Dent snarled tiredly. 'We've got a killer hangover.'

'I know you uploaded that video Harvey.' Edward replied icily.

'What video?' Dent sounded completely confused. Over the phone Edward heard scrapes and groans as Two-Face dragged himself from his pit and over to his computer.

For a few minutes, Edward heard a repeat of the video he'd been watching in horror. Throughout Dent was laughing. 'Take it down!' Edward hissed.

'Why?'

Oh _god_. Not this game. 'Because Harv, it's embarrassing.' Edward sighed.

'Not for us.' Two-Face growled.

'Fine Harvey, I'll take it down myself.' Edward snapped and set about hacking into Youtube while hung over.

'Take it down and I send a copy to every rogue not in Arkham and several news stations too.' Dent threatened.

'_What?_' That dumbfounded Edward and the shrill pitch of his rising anger sent a scythe of pain through his head. '_Why would you do that?!_'

'Because seeing you trying to dance in the rain is pretty damn golden there Riddler.' Dent chuckled and the line went dead.

That _insufferable_-

The anger that flowed through his veins sent another warning pain across his brain.

He should know by now to trust no-one.

* * *

><p>AN: I hate this chapter, hate it. Cursed writers block and a lack of any decent plot ideas makes me so damn frustrated. A big shout out to Bat-teen28 who listens to _every_ stupid idea I come up with and is absolutely wonderful to me despite the pestering I do. xD Seriously Batty, where would I be without you?

A/N Part Two: So Double S got her mangy paws on a 3DS and Pokemon Y. You _know_ I'm going to become obsessed. Hopefully things won't suffer too much and I'll upload when I finish a chapter but, should things drag out, please be patient with Kalos' new Eevee trainer!


	8. Rule 8

**#8 Improvisation. **

Edward Nigma was a high priority inmate of Arkham Asylum. He was considered a narcissistic obsessive compulsive. Edward himself considered he was the most brilliant mind in Gotham, if not the world. It was true to say that nearly every scheme that involved pitching his skills against Batman's usually ended with his incarceration, but Batman had to be cheating. He couldn't be cleverer than Edward, that was simply absurd. That was saying the sky was purple. Batman would _never_ match his intellect, which was why he was forced to cheat often. One of these days he would fail, cheats or no, and Edward would win.

It was simply a matter of trying again and again until it happened.

However, Edward couldn't win while incarcerated.

It was child's play to trick his cell door to open; Midnight was the last patrol for an hour, a perfect opportunity to roam the corridors unnoticed. He arrived at Personal Storage fairly quickly.

Well, he wasn't going to leave without his precious suit now, was he? He loved that suit. The code to the lockup was a simple four digit number no-one had bothered to change since the dawn of the asylum.

Inside, it was a pristine and organised system of cheap plastic boxes labelled with patient names, patient intake numbers and warning stickers for various dangerous items found on them at the time of re-admittance.

Of course, Joker's box was fit to bursting with all manner of dangerous and gag weaponry. It was also plastered with so many labels it was impossible to make anything out through the clear plastic.

Ivy's box was filled with decayed vegetation from plants that had failed to grow in the dark, cold cupboard; Cobblepot's was full of his prized trick umbrellas.

He found his own box swiftly enough, it was moderately full of half finished crossword magazines, Rubik's cubes and Sudoku puzzles. They always took them from him on the basis that anything that stimulated what they laughably called "his psychosis" would be counterproductive to his therapy. The absolute gall and cheek of those peons who professed to be of the learned mind. Even Jonathan had surpassed what were once his colleagues in the understanding that Edward didn't _need_ the puzzles on paper to be able to solve them; he did have a photographic memory after all.

Eventually, he would get around to reclaiming everything in that box, but today it was all about escape and escape was not thinkable without the suit.

Not even caring, he slit the seal on the plastic and wrenched open the lid. With a sneer of disgust he realised they hadn't even folded it properly, they'd just thrown it in.

A few month of freezing conditions, pressed upon by heavy books and phones had left a distinct crease in the jacket, the pants were simply a mess and the shirt still held touches of blood from his newly healed lip.

Can he at least have one suit that lasted more than a year? It wasn't as if he went through the cheap racks of the charity bins, oh no. They were usually hand-made Italian designs crafted specifically for him.

It was absolutely typical that Batman would find a way to ruin each and every one of them until they were good for nothing but dusters, but this one…He _liked_ this one. He wanted to keep it.

He was grumbling to himself and picked at the spots of blood that stained his shirt when a noise from the corridor caught his attention.

Torch beams scythed through the slightly ajar door and warped across his face. It sounded like a patrol, _but they don't go on walk for another forty-five minutes_! He seethed to himself.

Swiftly he made his way back to the doorway and edged the door closed before they spotted anything amiss.

'I thought patrol wasn't due for another half-hour.' A voice grumbled angrily from the other side. 'I'm missing Wheel of Fortune for this.'

'They caught an inmate attempting to escape earlier. You know that loony Calendar Man and his rituals.'

Oh curses, of course. It was Saint Brighid's day or, more accurately, the first day of spring tomorrow. Julian and his Gaelic traditions, of course he'd be climbing the walls metaphorically to escape and, more than likely, leave a victim's bloody clothes outside.

He always attempted to escape but he'd generally find a way to invoke his little rituals at the asylum if that proved impossible.

Security was going to be triple what he'd estimated thanks to Day and his insane obsessions.

Can nothing be counted on? He was going to have to…_Improvise_.

Edward _hated_ improvisation. Doing something rash went against his basic nature but the alternative was solitary confinement for an attempted breakout and with his luck, he had no doubt he would end up next to Zsasz and be forced to listen to the man's godawful obsession with knives and killing.

It would almost be like being neighbours with Joker, something he would never begrudge Freis.

The patrol moved on and Edward took the opportunity to slip back into the corridor.

He wasn't going to need a large distraction, just a persistent one. His eyes fell on a cell door a few feet away, haggard grunting emanated from within.

Oh. _Oh_, that was brilliant. Even for him.

The cane rapped gently on the door, interrupting the grunting snores from within. He stepped back just in time as the awoken madman slammed himself into the cell door with a feral scream.

'KillKillKill!'

'Yes, yes.' Edward sighed. Oh how he hated utilizing such brutes, leftovers of Strange's experiments no doubt but needs must.

'Kill!' The psycho screamed.

'_Listen first_.' Edward snarled menacingly as the psycho failed to control himself. 'And then you may kill.'

The snorts and screams fell silent. 'Kill?' It moaned.

_Ah, a smart one. It retains some higher function at least. _He smirked triumphantly. 'You want to kill?' He repeated.

'Kill! Blood! Kill!' It replied.

_Well, at least it knows more than one word. _Edward noted dryly.

'Hey, HEY!'

The Wheel of Fortune fans were back.

'Then kill.' Edward pulled the door open easily enough and rounded the corner as the guards skidded to a stop outside the open cell. For a few seconds, everything was silent.

'Now, we don't want to have to hurt you- _ARGH!_'

'Let him go! _Let him go!_'

He dusted his beloved jacket off happily and applauded his quick thinking. Who said he couldn't improvise?

He whistled tunelessly as he strolled pleasantly for an exit and ignored the pain filled screaming that echoed through the corridor, mingled with two words screamed over and over again.

* * *

><p><em>That was literally the one and only time that worked. It's not that he's bad at improvising, more he hates not being able to see every outcome of his actions. There have been situations before and after this that required a lot of improv. and Edward is absolutely insufferable if a plan doesn't go right. You see my dilemma of course. The only people he has to take that out on is Batman and me and Batman certainly won't be decent enough to just die already. <em>

A/N: I've been a bad fangirl and haven't updated in a while, hopefully this makes up for it and is as good as the others. Stitcher's been on some funky meds the last few days trying to clear up the flu.

A big thank you to everyone who comments upon and has followed or favourited The Rules, it means a lot to Edward's ego.


	9. Rule 9

**#9 Stack the deck. **

He just loved this. He loved it. Edward Nigma spent almost all of his time designing and building traps for Batman. Mainly because he wanted to defeat the dark knight but sometimes, it was just gloriously good fun to watch him attempt to navigate his way to Edward and patently, no-one else stood a chance of it.

Take the latest death trap for example. Edward had grown bored and frustrated with simple killing rooms; there was always so much he inevitably couldn't pack into them. Well, he _could_ but that would make them inelegant and Edward valued elegance of execution above simple things such as body count.

Still, it had posed a dilemma to him and he found a most ingenious way of solving them.

He'd taken an old bomb shelter on the outskirts of Gotham and turned it into a maze. He'd packed it out with the limit of his creative genius. Every sadistic little thought and plan he'd ever had stored in that remarkable head of his was made a reality and found somewhere to be housed in the spacious and abandoned complex. He'd then invited the citizens of Gotham to make it to the bottom with their cunning and wit to discover the secret of the bunker.

Of course no-one ever did. Their own stupidity killed them long before they found the 'Secret'. As an added little game, he'd hidden several clues to his real identity to the levels.

And now Batman had come to investigate it. It was absolutely wonderful and a perfect opportunity to catch him off guard.

When Batman was concerned, overkill was understatement.

He'd stumbled across the Riddler Trophy lamp in the first room, really more of a mild test than an actual attempt to kill him and had descended to the second.

Edward hardly remembered when taunting Batman had been so much fun. It was fair to say that the past few month had been filled with his own stagnation. As much as he hated to admit it, the old adage of too much time in your own company occasionally held merit.

But now he felt like his devious old self once again as he watched Batman idly trod on a cleverly disguised pressure plate and barely dodged the spikes that sank into the wall almost effortlessly.

And then they started _ticking_.

Edward chuckled lightly to himself as he saw Batman take a tumble down the stairs into the next room. It was an absolute shame he hadn't been skewered, but there at least thirty or more hidden traps waiting in this room alone.

This time, the Dark Knight watched where he stepped and inspected the floor. Edward had to grin to himself at the knowledge that Batman's troubles weren't at his _feet._ More…Face height.

Sure enough…

_**BANG!**_

'Argh!'

He had triggered the shotgun which nearly succeeded in taking his entire arm off but the spoilsport dodged at the last second.

His shoulder was in virtual pieces and this was only the third level of The Bunker. There were still three more levels to go and each level became twice as dangerous as the last. No-one had succeeded in getting past level three and judging by Batman's pained expression, he wasn't going to either.

'Riddler!' So he'd worked it out, fairly quickly too. Although he'd deduct points for the shoulder. Edward couldn't help it, he had to respond.

'Yes, Dark Knight? Finding it tedious going?'

'Do you know how many people you've killed?' Batman gasped as he slouched towards the other side of the room.

'Me? None.' Edward replied. 'Every one of them was killed by their own stupidity. I didn't force them to come here and participate. I did warn them they'd find more than what they bargained for. I gave them riddles, just as I did _you_.'

Batman finally succumbed to his own pain and sank to the floor against a wall. Edward pulled out his pocket watch and counted down the seconds until charge was at maximum. Five, four, three…

A stray spark ran along the length of the tile and up his injured shoulder. Batman leapt to his feet so fast you'd almost think he'd been _electrocuted_.

Edward smiled at his own joke.

Did he have this recording? He _wanted_ that recording. He'd been looking for a new screensaver for frankly too long and this was a serious contender.

'Damn it, Riddler do I have to come and get you?' Batman snarled.

'But of course!' Edward laughed.

When you stack the deck, you stack it to win, after all.

* * *

><p><em>Oh man, Edward did not make it easy on Batman. That place was tricked out. Still, it was a fun lesson. Always stack the deck in your favour and…Maybe block all communications so he doesn't call in his super friends to trash your newest playground? That should have been a lesson…<em>

A/N: Normally, I'm not one for begging for reviews. If you like it enough to review that's good enough for me, usually. However I do like to hear what you guys are thinking. Did you like the new chapter? Did it make you laugh? Was it too out of character? Or do you think you could have done a better job with the prompt?

A/N two: This is a particularly rough segment of The Rules, if you've noticed a decline in quality I apologise. These are particularly vague prompts that I don't have an actual plot set for. So what happens is whatever comes to mind. Sometimes, they'll be funny, or maybe serious or maybe even *Gasps* a win for Riddles.

P.S: Smug Riddler is smug. That is all.


	10. Rule 10

**#10 Exploit Weakness**

Arkham Asylum's cafeteria was hardly certified to prepare and distribute food. If you found something absolutely unchewable in it, you swallowed and hoped that whatever it was would pass without incident or intervention, however the occasion of mealtimes while not used for eating only enough to live did have the advantages of seeing other inmates. Edward had somehow formed his own group; he wasn't sure how it happened. One minute it was simply he and Jonathan and the next they had been joined by Jervis Tetch, Joker, Harley Quinn, Warren White and Harvey Dent.

It was alarming how well they got on despite the immediate drawback that they all hated each other on one level or another.

He and Jonathan usually played games of deduction about the Arkham staff and he was surprised that Jon could see almost as much as he could, some that even he hadn't spotted, which was mainly fears and concerns.

It was useful. Their favourite game was the leverage game, otherwise known as spot the weakness. Occasionally, the entire group got involved. It was, after all, the most entertainment they were likely to get in the asylum. Currently, they were deducing all they could about that insufferable bigot Frank Boles.

'Lonely, alcoholic, uses internet dating for casual sex, will likely end up with too many cats.'

'Internet dating, really? I would have suggested wanted ads in newspapers over internet dating.'

'Statistically, internet dating is more likely.' Edward replied smugly. 'Proliferation of smartphones and internet access means there are more candidates on dating websites than the seeking column.'

'Yes, thank you Sherlock and Watson.' Joker snapped.

'I dunno what's more creepy, how accurate Jonny and Eddie can be or that they actually enjoy it.' Harley whined loudly which caused both men to glare at her.

Of course she wouldn't understand that this was about the only mental stimulation one got in the asylum, beyond taunting and playing with the psychologists but everyone enjoyed doing that. Harley was a _product_ of that.

Edward Nigma was banned from written and cyber communication. It was just a relief that they'd left him with _verbal_ communication although even that was restricted to non cryptic speech. He wasn't allowed to ask riddles and he wasn't allowed to use anagrams, he was barely able to ask questions without someone warning him. The second a member of staff overheard his use of just one of the aforementioned literary wits, it would be solitary. Thanks to their ridiculous notions of psychosis he was also kept as far from puzzles of any kind as possible. That included crosswords, Sudoku, riddles, rhymes and on and on. His brain always stagnated without fresh input.

'What about Sharp?' Shark enquired. 'What would you pick up from him?'

'Ooh Sharpy's a closed book there icicle head.' Shark threw a hate-filled glare at Joker.

'I hardly doubt that,' Edward smiled. 'There are certain things one can pick up from observations alone.'

'Well my dear Caterpillar, here is your chance. The Dodo has arrived for the tea party.'

Jervis and his damn practice of allotting characters to people. It was annoying in the least but no-one could seem to get rid of him.

All eyes turned to the slightly portly man as he and his immaculate suit strode in.

'I'm surprised that pompous windbag deems it necessary to eat with the degenerates of his asylum.' Crane remarked.

'Maybe he just needs a reason why he shouldn't, Scary.' Joker replied in much darker tones.

'Aw, Mistah J's only mad because Sharpy didn't like the last joke he played.' Harley chirped, happily oblivious to the virtual murder going on. 'He gave my poor puddin' solitary for a month!'

'So, Riddler, what do you detect?' Shark challenged.

They watched as Sharp fidgeted with his own cane – A much cheaper and tackier one than Edwards was – and approached one of the Psychologists Edward had no knowledge of ever meeting although there must be at least one that they had yet to snap into submission.

The way his shoulders were set, the gleam of sweat on his bald head; the way his fingers twisted over the cane…Something wasn't right with Quincy Sharp. There was something he was missing.

Edward's attention switched to the bald man he was talking to – More like cowering at – and noted the power position first. He believed he had some sort of power over Sharp. Something the normally bull-headed warden would challenge.

There was a puzzle at work in Arkham Asylum.

Suddenly, his brain felt alive again. He felt the fizz of excitement.

'Well?' Dent demanded. 'Don't leave us in suspense, Nigma.'

'Weakness.' Edward grinned. 'I detect weakness.'

* * *

><p><em>And he intends to exploit it. Oh man, Edward smells blood. When he knows something's going on he can't resist finding it out. If I were him, I'd drop this one but as he just loves to point out: I have no chance at ever being close to his intellect. <em>

_I have a life. _

A/N: Look at that! I made Arkham City references! I know it's short but it's longer than the last one!

Is it wrong I just love it when the Rogues gang get together? The dynamic is just brilliant! Thanks to Batty and readingstuff4fun who assured me they at least continue to read my ham-fisted ramblings and i'm not as much of a hack at this than first thought. This chapter of deviousness is for you two!


	11. Rule 11

**#11 Give Batman Distractions. **

'Oh you were so close Batman! But once again, you _failed_.' Edward chuckled into the microphone and watched as Batman paced up and down in front of the dead body of his former hostage.

Oh he was mad, excessively mad but that was what Edward wanted. He wanted Batman focused on him with every fibre and he was going to make it extremely difficult for the vigilante to find him.

Because…That would distract him from what was happening elsewhere in Gotham. It was a favour for Penguin which Edward would be sure to cash in with due time. It hardly took much convincing after all. Batman was disrupting the routes that Cobblepot was using to smuggle various illegal items into the city and valuable product was being lost but the latest shipment was something Oswald couldn't possibly have confiscated, or so he told Edward. He had no idea what it was, other than the businessman was willing to pay handsomely to have Batman out of the way for as long as possible. Edward was more than up for a rematch, this time he'd win or maybe just get away scot free. Getting away would count as a win in his book any day.

'Riddler, this is murder!' Batman snarled as he whirled around in some attempt to find the hidden camera Edward was watching from.

_Oh my, he is furious isn't he? Well lets just see how angry Batman can get. _

'I agree, you should have found her sooner Batman. It's hardly my fault she's dead. You know…She was screaming for you to rescue her.'

'_**Nigma!' **_

Edward smirked in the ghostly light of the monitor he was using to watch Batman pace, frustrated.

'I will find you, Nigma.' Batman threatened to the empty shell of a building the hostage had been left in. 'And when I do-'

'You'll what?' Edward laughed. 'You can't find me!' He taunted further, pushing his luck no doubt and should Batman ever catch up with him he'd certainly get more than a deserved thrashing but that was the beauty of it all. Batman thought himself so good, _so worthy_ that he couldn't possibly take it far enough to kill. Not even the courts and their pathetic tissue paper rules would dare mete out a punishment as severe as the crime because he was _insane_. Edward Nigma was not insane, but the insanity plea had it's uses.

'I _will_ find you.' Batman snarled darkly. Oooh he'd touched a nerve there.

'I look forward to it Dork Knight.'

Batman stood there for a few seconds before whirling around and making for the door. His fingers brushed his imposing cowl where, presumably, the ears would be located.

'Oracle, I need the coroner-'

And he was out the door.

Well, hunting for Edward would take some time and after that little stunt it could be guaranteed that Batman wouldn't pursue anything like smuggling while The Riddler was at large.

Edward sat back, happy his job was done. He fumbled in his pockets for a few moments before he found the useless iPhone his employees had brought him as a replacement for his much loved and much abused flip-phone.

'Oswald.' Edward greeted the abrasive cockney accent on the phone. 'Oh yes, the Bat's well taken care of, should be for the next few days...' What followed was a lesson in idle chit-chat and gossip. It was always nice to keep in touch with the failures of other rogues. Oswald heard almost as much as Edward did. The Iceberg did particularly well when it came to helping poor sods drown their sins, be it rogues or citizens.

He ended the call and lamented it didn't feel the same without the familiar snap.

Getting paid to give Batman distractions? That was his kind of work, any day of the week and the cash would be used eventually in his own schemes to catch The Bat.

Because Oswald simply was never going to succeed, but Edward was happy to take his money in any case.

* * *

><p><em>All together now readers: It's going to backfire! Oh my is it going to backfire. Letting innocent citizens die, Edward? It's almost as bad as beating up a bird boy. It paints a bat-shaped target on your head. I liked the iPhone damn it! It had Angry Birds on there! Don't get me started on Flappy Bird. Bane of my existence. <em>

A/N: Once again, we find our intrepid villain taunting Batman. Honestly, when is he going to learn? Switch has a point though, it's going to paint a bat-shaped target on him. I'm not sure how to feel about this one. On the one hand, I loved the dynamic between them over who is to blame for the death but on the other...Blergh. It seems my enthusiasm drained away at the end.


	12. Rule 12

**#12 Follow through on your threats. **

Sometimes, he despaired of the world and their interpretations of criminality. Gotham city had, hands down, cornered the market of criminal behaviour and there was undoubtedly an element of competition among the rogues. Edward Nigma's place was a rather complicated one.

His offences were, by and large, innocuous. He tried very hard not to kill, he didn't murder – At least, not often - and he hated and abhorred violence to that part of the world that was small, fluffy and went _**squeak**_.

He even helped those idiots who were attempting to capture him. He always left notes and riddles to his crimes weeks in advance. Some people considered it foolhardy; some considered that it more a cry for help. That he _wanted _to be caught. Of course he didn't want to be caught, what he wanted was the challenge. He wanted the police and yes, even Batman on their best game.

Because it was infinitely more fun.

But sometimes, sometimes he couldn't avoid bloodshed. Sometimes, they needed a show of what he was capable of.

If there was one thing the people of Gotham were going to learn today, it was that The Riddler always followed through on his threats.

Edward Nigma was furious beyond words. Beyond anything he'd experienced before.

The Gotham Tribune had released their yearly list of most terrifying rogues. Joker had once again scooped the top spot for the fifth year running with his little jack in the box routine. That was hardly a surprise, Joker always made number 1. Especially after he paid the paper a visit the year he'd been knocked off the top spot by Black Mask.

Second place went to Croc because he was a big, scaly, cannibalistic _bastard_. That was perfectly acceptable because there were things under rocks that were terrified of Croc.

Of course, third place had gone to Jon after his stunt on Halloween with the parade balloons and toxins. It was simply inspired for his limited talents and over a hundred people had been affected before they managed to bring the balloons down.

They were undisputed and well deserved places. What got under Edward's nose was his ranking. Of course the paper handed out places based on number of schemes, fatalities, ingenuity and many other aspects and Edward had never aspired to be in the top three. That would mean pissing off two very unpredictable rogues and Jonathan absolutely deserved the last spot.

What got under his nose was the fact he ranked lower than Jervis.

Jervis Tetch. He ranked lower than _Jervis Tetch_. Lower than a man with only a slight grip on reality.

_The goddamn Mad Hatter._

He wasn't pleased either, by the accompanying reasons.

Less than ten killings, lacklustre schemes, an inability to think big-

_What were they thinking? Of course he thought big! He thought so big that patently the idiots at the Gotham Tribune couldn't see it!_

He may not have been in the forefront of people's minds and a lot of his _underappreciated_ work was spent gathering and trading information but god almighty-

His eyes found the small script at the top of the paper, usually reserved for those reporters foolish enough to attach their names to a story.

_Compiled by Chris Pike_.

He hadn't read much further before the red mist had descended and then the anger had taken over. Someone was going to pay for this. Someone at Gotham Tribune.

People had opened up their papers yesterday morning and wondered what on earth had happened to the news. Edward had made the news, he made it into a riddle and those just slightly more intelligent than the Editor would know that it was a riddle, wrapped inside an anagram and made by an _enigma_.

And that was but a warning of what was to come.

If writers and editors were going to heckle some of the most dangerous people in Gotham, one would think it would be prudent to disguise or even amend their home address. It wouldn't have helped in the slightest, but it could have been done.

Chris Pike patently hadn't followed that little rule and it irked Edward that finding him was hardly a problem at all. It should have been a challenge, it should have been harder to find considering the police presence outside of the house.

Patently, someone had worked out his little cipher because half of Gotham's finest meat-headed officers had taken up some sort of security detail on the residence Edward was currently watching. That too, was futile because Edward would find a way in, he always found a way.

_It was probably Batman._ He decided with a scowl. _Gordon doesn't have the intelligence._ Neither did that Bat-brained oaf, but he seemed to have resources the GCPD didn't have. Somehow, he'd found a way to solve Edward's carefully crafted clues which infuriated him far more than it really should have.

The added security wouldn't do the man much good at all. After a time of careful observation, he found his weakness in the pattern and resolved upon the next rotation to take it.

It was hardly difficult to someone used to stealth and the occasional breaking and entering to find a way into the house once he'd come close to it. Nobody ever thought of locking bathroom windows but doors? Patios? Oh certainly!

He nearly sank a foot into the toilet but avoided that hazard at the last second. While it wasn't a dignified entry, it was entry nonetheless. If he had a little longer before rushing off to inflict misery on Mister Pike, he may have planned enough to take the front route.

Still, he was in.

It didn't take him long to find the master bedroom and it's lone occupant but surprisingly, it wasn't a man. It was a woman. He hadn't come across a girlfriend but any kind of leverage would do in this situation.

She must have been one heavy sleeper to have slept through his near debacle in the bathroom and of course, the heavy police presence outside. She certainly found it difficult to ignore the hand that reached down and wrapped itself in her hair.

Edward was not in the mood to play nice.

Of course, she screamed in pain as he dragged her from the bed and downstairs.

'What the hell?' She screamed as he threw her at the dining chair he'd pulled out. 'What is wrong with you?!'

_Temper, temper. _ He could feel the boiling rage threatening to overcome his calmness. This was already more work than he'd predicted and now the man wasn't even here for him to torture.

His problems with anger were usually counter-productive to whatever he was doing and it was well known that Edward Nigma in a rage was a force unto himself but this time he found the rage was actually helpful. He was too furious to muck around with riddles and plenty furious enough to get over his aversion to killing.

'I want to know where Chris is. Tell me and you just might live.' He snarled.

She froze in the act of rubbing the sore skin of her head. 'Chris? Why? What do you want from Chris?'

'I want to discuss the finer points of an article he wrote last week. The yearly _"Batman's most dangerous foes"_ List. He got my ranking wrong.'

'Wrong ranking? _He?_' For a moment she looked dumbfounded and then understanding suddenly dawned on her face. She seemed suitably shocked and terrified.

'Where is he? I won't ask again.' Edward pressed. Rather impressively, she burst into terrified tears.

'C-Chris isn't a he!' She blubbered and clutched at her designer pyjamas.

_What?!_

It didn't take him long to connect the dots and see his error. 'Chris…Is a woman's name?'

'It stands for Christine! I didn't think anyone would take my journalism seriously under such a flowery name!' She sobbed all the harder as he stared at her pathetic form.

He really should have checked better, he should have wondered why there were no pictures but then he'd been so enraged and focused on showing Chris Pike the error of his/her way that he'd hardly cared to look beyond the address.

'So are you going to let me go?' She pleaded damply.

'Oh don't think for one moment I'm such a sexist. I'm still going to kill you.'

'Why?' She wailed all the harder.

'You allowed that horrendous piece about me to print.' He replied coldly. 'I am, _once again_, the laughing stock of the criminal world.'

His eyes registered a black shape moving in the shadows and darted behind the chair.

'Come out Batman. Or I kill her _now_.' He pulled a pistol from his jacket and aimed it at the back of Christine's head. When she heard the safety disengage she began to hyperventilate. As expected whenever an innocent was in danger, Batman did as he was instructed and crawled from the shadows he'd been hiding in.

'Put the gun down, Nigma.' Edward found it infuriating that Batman still thought he had some control over the situation. Batman had no control; he was looking for some way of gaining the upper hand but Edward was not going to give it to him, not this time.

'No, I don't think I will.' The gun kissed the back of Christine's head.

'Riddler, you can't do that unless you can put it in a riddle. We know that. You need to be in control. '

'You idiots and your abhorrent labels of psychosis! Well then, _I am here. You can get to me by many ways. Once you get here, you become bone._ The answer, of course is _death_.'

The shot was loud in the small room and Batman was far too late to stop it.

After Edward's act, the Gotham Tribune stopped producing their little list which made the resulting stint in Arkham almost worth it.

* * *

><p><em>There's another lesson in this and it's for the citizenry of Gotham. If you're going to piss off a rogue, hide yo address better. I don't know about you watchers, but this was kind of inevitable. When you take the worst of the worst in terms of insanity and turn their feared monikers into a popularity contest…It was bound to happen. Edward just happened to be the cracker that found the flame. <em>

A/N: Sorry for making this kinda dark at the end. Yes, Edward is never normally one to kill, at least outright but people will rile him so. I'd like to think this was compounded somewhat by the insufferable nature of Jervis and constant reminders from other people that he was ranked lower than The Mad Hatter. Switch gets it almost spot on when she says Edward just happened to be the cracker that found the flame. Yay tenth favouriter! Thank you! I feel I should issue an apology. Stitcher's said this before on her profile and she'll say it again now: She haz a lazy. Like really lazy. Sorry subscribers, Edward and this saga of stories are being difficult. That being said, inspiration finally struck for this one!

PS: You guys are just going to _love _the next rule. It involves Edward and babies. Not gonna lie, it might be the worst thing I've done yet to poor Edward Nigma. Excuse me while I go and hide my address….


	13. Rule 13

**#13 Mothers are unpredictable.**

Problems, every scheme had it's problems. It was the sign of a better man to rise above it, or so Edward Nigma's father used to say. Nashton Senior, however, was not a better man. Certainly not better than his son who tended to be the opposite of his father in every way conceivable. Edward went out of his way to do so, sometimes to extreme measures. His father was wrong about a good many things but he'd been right about that particular phrase. A better man did not let the incompetency of other people and difficult circumstances falter his plans. He charged through and made the best of the bad situation.

Nashton Senior had never met Batman.

Batman was a menace to society. He was a menace to Edward. One he'd vowed to rid himself of before he could concentrate wholeheartedly on improving mankind's gene-pool. Frustratingly, he'd failed to rid himself of Batman _again_. There would be no salvaging that plan, no comeback from the destruction he'd wrought. His employees had all been apprehended and now, Batman was looking for him.

There was _no way_ Edward was going back to Arkham. Not right now. Jonathan had recently come down with yet another bout of pneumonia and if he had to listen to him hacking and coughing all night and moaning about being sick he'd _hang_ himself.

Which explained his absolute desperation to avoid the inevitable. To whit: Being hauled into custody by Batman.

The incompetents he'd enlisted had bought him enough time before their arrest to escape, but now he was on his own.

Edward looked left and then right in search of something, _anything_ to help him put distance between himself and his nemesis and spotted a small blue hatchback being attended over by a skinny woman manhandling bags.

Oh he hated doing this. But needs must.

As she slid behind the wheel, Edward took the opportunity to get into the passenger seat. She looked startled and angry but best of all, she _recognised_ him. Or rather - the suit. The fight seemed to drain out of her and left just the anger and agitation of having a rogue in her passenger seat.

The noise and disruption from the area he'd just left was moving closer and he began to wonder if targeting this particular car was such a good idea, she seemed to have a deathwish.

'What are you waiting for? Drive.' He snapped. Her wide brown eyes turned to look towards the back seat and, suspiciously, Edward followed her gaze.

What was the purpose of the fluffy blue elephant? Just why did car-seats have to take up so much room? And why did the bundle need so many brightly coloured mobiles?

His mind shut down at the sight and his mouth totally disconnected. 'Oh. How old is he?'

'Two weeks!' She replied shrilly.

After a certain amount of time around others, Edward had developed something akin to a crazy detector and it was desperately trying to warn him of the impending threat. She didn't scream and flail to avoid startling the sleeping baby, but her tone made it a distinct possibility. 'Get out of my car!'

'Terribly sorry.' Edward snapped. 'I just need a lift.' He would normally be above threatening people with guns, but this was a rather desperate bid for freedom and sanity.

Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the gun and flickered just briefly towards the baby in the back-seat. 'Why are you doing this?' She hissed.

'Stalling isn't going to help you.' He countered.

She grumbled and turned over the engine.

Edward settled back as streets and houses passed them by. He tensed as a convoy of squad cars blew past in a flurry of lights and sirens but relaxed again as they seemed oblivious to his escape. In fact, he'd almost forgotten there was a supposed hostage in the car, until she spoke up again. 'Why _are_ you doing this?'

Well, now he'd evaded the cops with her begrudging help he was in a chipper mood. Maybe he'd give her an answer and not threaten to shoot her. At least, not yet.

'Why not?' He replied with a smug smirk.

'Don't you have a mother?' She pleaded.

That all but soured his happiness. 'Of course I did.' _And father beat any kind of sympathy out of her._ He added in the privacy of his own head. She glanced at him at the disgusted tone of voice but immediately turned back to the road when he snapped 'Watch the road!'

'Sorry, sorry.'

Just as they rounded the corner, the bundle stirred and gave a keening cry. The mother's head whipped around so fast Edward thought she'd given herself whiplash. 'Oh Harvey, sweetie, now?'

_Harvey? She named him Harvey?! _There was nothing else to do, he laughed.

What are you laughing at?' She demanded.

'You named him Harvey? Any correlation to Harvey Dent?'

'Well…' She looked conflicted, an inner battle to determine how much she revealed of herself. 'Yes. But that was when he was the DA. Not when he was a rogue! I used to have a bit of a crush on him, truth be told. A lot of women did.'

Oh he simply had to tell this to Dent, but not for a while, hopefully. He was, after all, back in Arkham and Edward had no desire to return to Arkham. Jonathan's snores could wake the dead. He denied ever having snored in his life but Edward knew for a fact that a sick Jonathan Crane could keep the entire corridor awake and was determined not to experience further suffering at the hands of sleep deprivation.

He spared a look into the bundle of blankets and found himself staring at two knowing blue eyes. Hadn't he once read that babies under three weeks were unable to focus on anything? This one was giving him a look he knew well. Smugness. He had life figured out, for the moment. 'And where is Harvey's father?'

She barely dodged the lamppost she careered for. 'H-his father?'

'I'm assuming there is one. It usually takes two.' He quipped and was rather sadistically delighted in the way she blushed a deep crimson.

'He died a few month ago. Caught in the middle of a fight between rogues and police.'

'Not one of mine I should think.' Edward replied. It wasn't that he cared about Gotham's citizenry, far from it. He did, however have a reputation to uphold and part of that involved reducing the blood that was spilled unintentionally. He wasn't Joker after all.

'no, no. It was the clown.'

Of course it was. Joker always enjoyed causing as many casualties as possible before Batman took him down and the list of dead attributed to him alone ranged in the hundreds. It stood to reason a minority of those dead had…produced offspring.

The kid was luckier than he even knew, not to have a father. Edward had wished and wished to be rid of his for years before he'd eventually come to the conclusion that just wishing wasn't enough; you had to act upon it.

He still had that photo in his wallet, Edward smirked in savage delight. Oh yes, the boy was far luckier than he'd yet realized. He turned and looked again at the bundle and was amused to see the wide eyed look it was giving him.

Perhaps….No. That was plainly stupid. He was not going to give in to the unsaid pleading like some hormonal woman. Babies were vile creatures whose main function seemed to be eating and crying. What did Jon call them? "Little apes" which was something Edward had never understood until now.

He was dragged from his reverie by her foot applied viciously to the brake. The little hatchback skidded slightly and he was at least glad he'd chosen to apply the seatbelt. The baby, jostled by the rocking skid of the car began to wail again.

'What are you playing at?' He snarled. Wordlessly, she pointed to the scene just outside the windscreen.

The police had cordoned off an entire section of the city just to find him, how utterly predictable. His luck failed to hold even further because the skidding car had attracted a lot of attention and it took seconds for them to see him through the windscreen.

_Shit._

There was really only one option left. He lunged for the baby and managed to get out of the car before it's mother could stop him.

'Put the baby down, Nigma.'

'I think I'll take him with me.' Edward taunted.

'No!'

It seemed she'd finally torn her eyes from the semicircle of armed police long enough to notice he'd taken the kid. She practically screeched and leapt from the car.

He pointed the gun at her just as little 'Harvey' grew red and then began to cry. 'Oh yes and- oh good god, what is that smell?!'

'That would be him, soiling himself.'

'How do you make him stop crying?' Edward shouted above the din in his arms.

'He needs to be changed.' She pulled a navy bag from the car and indicated it held the items needed. 'Are you-'

The thought of touching something as foul as excrement, even baby excrement repulsed him. 'Come and change him then, but just you!'

She nodded and approached cautiously with the bag, aware that any wrong move would make her liable to be shot. Eventually, she reached out her arms and cooed soothingly 'Come to mama Harvey, there's a good boy.'

He would never understand the babble aimed at babies but nevertheless, Edward handed her the precious hostage.

She jostled the baby as he became distracted by the movement of police and in one ladylike pirouette; she turned and kicked him as hard as she could in the crotch.

He saw stars and was pretty sure his vision all but failed as she backed away a breathing, venting dragon of anger and the police rushed forward to collect their prize.

Oh god he was going to be sick, his lower abdomen became a nerve centre of pain and heat as he collapsed to his knees and was then forced further down by the rush of cops trying to handcuff him.

Arkham was inevitable it seemed.

'You even dare come looking for me and I swear to god I have a taser and I know how to use it!' She screamed which only seemed to upset the baby further.

Mothers. They're absolutely unpredictable. He was never going to forget this encounter for a long, long time.

Maybe Jonathan would be over the worst by now? He could only hope.

* * *

><p><em>I am not touching the kicking with a barge-pole. Noooope. It speaks for itself. But I will however, say that Nigma is a complete and total hypocrite. He snores like a bulldozer with just a <em>_**cold**__. I shudder to think what kind of moaning, bad-tempered mess he'd be with pneumonia. _

A/N: Currently, I'm typing this from under my bed, hoping he won't come looking. Eddiekins, you so silly but we still love you. Please don't find me! I'm not clever enough to get out of a death-trap!

PS: This has to be the crackiest thing I've written for him, considering he despises babies but at least he doesn't call them little apes. We're looking at you Scarecrow! Also: I'm highly surprised he hadn't invested in a nut cup earlier. It seems the normal place poor Eddie gets kicked, especially in the animations. I'd love to say the next chapter will make up for my treatment of our loveable riddling rogue but it really doesn't. Trust me; anything with Crane in it will not be good for Eddie.

PPS: Edward and I would like to thank you all for the wonderful reviews, favourites and follows, they make me all warm and fuzzy inside and they probably would to Edward too if he weren't currently looking to string me up somewhere. Can't have everything.


	14. Rule 14

A/N: You guys all know by now that a chapter cannot go by without a naughty swear in there somewhere and that's all well and good, but this time I'm going to forewarn you all there's _probably_ a ton of bad language in this. It _is_ a Scarecrow induced nightmare. You've been warned.

**#14 Question the pills.**

Edward Nigma was a classic case of insomnia. He had trouble falling asleep and staying asleep. It was a subject that came up frequently. He could go days without sleep and he would if someone weren't there to stop him.

Which was probably why he was having trouble sleeping this time around. He had little to no patience, his machines were failing him one by one and he couldn't concentrate long enough to put them right. It was interfering with his puzzles and he couldn't even summon a damn anagram anymore. Something was going to have to be done!

As much as he hated it, he was forced to place a call and ask for some help. Of course, Jon was always willing to help him out; he was more than happy to.

Which was probably something to do with how he ended up here.

The Riddler was used to running. Occasionally for his life, most often while being pursued by a certain winged menace. However what was chasing him this time was something far more frightening than death and certainly more frightening than Batman.

It had found his worst fears and now he was going to pay.

'GET BACK HERE YOU MORON!'

_Not on your life you old fart. _

Edward Nigma had seen all manner of terrors but even Batman failed to terrify him more than this. He ran for his life down the streets of Gotham instead of simply accepting what was about to happen while trying not to piss his pants and slammed into a group of twittering schoolgirls who turned to laugh at him hatefully as he staggered around the corner. The uniform seemed vaguely familiar to him.

_I'm a super-villain now!_ He scolded himself. _How can I possibly be scared of a drunken, vindictive old bastard? _

'YOU STUPID LITTLE FUCKER!'

A shadow blocked out the moonlight as Edward turned and blanched at the terrifying sight. Masonry crumbled to the floor effortlessly as the lean, red faced Nashton Senior leaned down on him.

_He's bigger than Godzilla! That's how I can be scared!_

With a scream he dived into the nearest building and curled up behind the sales desk as chaos reigned above him.

The giant apparition was trying to shake the place apart to flush him out.

_C'mon. C'mon! Use that brilliant brain to get out of here!_

The entire roof peeled away and he stared up at his worst nightmare as the old man's face twisted into a grin of vindictive delight.

'GOT YOU NOW YOU CHEATING LITTLE WORM-'

Edward shrunk back and did something he hadn't done for such a long time. He screamed and begged for mercy. The hand was coming down, reaching for him and it was going to crush every bone in his body, it was going to-

* * *

><p>The screams filtered down the decrepit stairs of the abandoned house Edward was calling a temporary base and rattled around the hallway before they found their way into the kitchen.<p>

The figure at the chipped plywood table took some delight in listening to it as he swirled his lukewarm tea.

_He's going to be angry when he wakes up. _

_**We'll be long gone before then! **_

A fresh scream broke through the door.

_You shouldn't have given him those damn pills!_

_**He wanted something to help him sleep. Not my fault they have a side-effect. **_

Jonathan Crane smirked into his cup as he took a delicate sip. Of course, Edward was bound to retaliate somehow, but their friendship was never the same without this little game of tit for tat. It kept things interesting and, come to that, it kept them both from boredom. A bored Riddler was a terrifying prospect and terror was Scarecrow's department.

Always question the pills. Especially when they come from Crane.

* * *

><p><em>Oooh that's a declaration of war! No-one and nothing messes with Edward's precious brain like that. Jonathan and Edward are, hands down, two of the smartest inmates in Arkham. Intellect gets bored and eventually it turns on itself and becomes destructive behaviour. So in the interests of maintaining their friendship and keeping each other around if only for the interesting conversations, this kind of thing happens a lot in the lull.<em>

A/N: I kinda cheated for this. It's an unfinished and abandoned fic I reworked because it deserves to be shown, if only for a terrified Edward screaming like a little girl. This was pre-prepared early on in The Rules. It was one of the easiest and most fun rules to find a plot for, so enjoy!

A/N part two: This version of Scarecrow was inspired by ScaryScarecrows and her own interpretations of Jonathan Crane. Credit where it's due n'all. I was reading one of her many brilliant fics and yeah. She's my muse for this one. Go check her stuff out on the Batman Begins/TDK/TDKR side like yesterday because she totally deserves the attention. If you're unsure about which to read first I suggest- **All Those Things You Fear, Encounters** and **Hitchikers**. The last two because they're my favourites!

Last one for Easter break. Stitcher's taking a break to catch up. See you guys on the 23rd with a new chapter!


	15. Rule 15

A/N: It's that time again! Breaks over, Stitcher's back at work making Edward's life a nightmare. So…Who missed me? Seriously though, I have got some treats prepared for later chapters ;) The break's done some good and while I haven't gotten quite as far as I would have liked thanks to writer's block, I have got a few chapters!

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><p><strong>#15 Be in possession of all the facts.<strong>

Pain. Pain wasn't part of the deal. It hurt to move, that was the first thing Edward noted when he finally broke through into consciousness. At least three limbs were registering a staggering amount of pain.

His skin tingled like he'd been in the sun for too long, he felt like an overcooked chicken.

Smell was the next sense to return and as the salty breeze whipped up storms of leaves, they brought with it the smell of burning fuel and rotting entrails.

It was impossible for him to stay here. There was danger.

His eyes finally adjusted to the scene of carnage around him.

The docks, he was at the docks. Should have known with the slight tang of salt air and fish entrails. They were burning alarmingly well as the fire spread towards him. Trying to stand was sheer agony but he'd take that to burning alive on fossilized fish oil.

What had happened before he'd woken up?

Bodies were littered left and right as he staggered and dragged himself away from his resting place. A hand brushed the metal of a container and pulled back sharply as the soft flesh of his fingers blistered.

Everything was on damn fire! Think Riddler, think. What had happened? He remembered….He remembered….

_Penguin. Talking to Penguin, finalizing plans. _

Had they actually executed them? Or had this put paid to the scheme? Was that snippet even from this _month_, let alone today?

Oh hell, he _hated_ memory loss.

He needed…He needed to be in possession of all the facts.

As he staggered along, past individual fires burning to themselves, he came across someone who would and could answer his questions – if he had been awake.

'Wake up!' He hissed breathlessly and kicked the armoured chest. 'Wake up Batman!'

Prodding and kicking Batman on the floor, oh that was a safe occupation. He was most likely going to lose a foot but with the raging headache going on and the eerie silence of a devastated battlefield he hardly had the time to care.

It was clear that The Dark Knight was out for the count, perhaps even dead though Edward had never been that lucky and he certainly wasn't going to get close enough to check. He could be playing dead and Edward's nose did not need to be broken for a third time.

A new silhouette appeared through the greasy smoke of oil and petrol burning across the tarmac and Edward just about recognised Cobblepot making his way around the mess. Finally, some answers.

'Oswald what the hell is going-' His head was nearly taken off by an umbrella. It was only then did he realize that Penguin was shaking in anger.

'My product, my men, my _warehouse_ you useless green gimp! I asked you to do one bloody thing!' The umbrella was brandished once again and this time, Edward was forced to use an arm to deflect the heavy duty brolly.

'I don't-' Words failed him. What the hell was he talking about? The carnage he'd left behind?

It was then that Penguin spotted the unmoving shape of everyone's favourite bat-themed nuisance.

'Of bloody course,' He snarled. 'I should have known that demented rodent would be in this somewhere!'

While Penguin was busy thrashing the unconscious bat-menace Edward decided, against the pounding of his sore head that maybe it would just be best to leave and catch Oswald when he was in a better mood.

His escape was halted by two thickset bruisers who clamped a steel grip onto his upper arms. 'Mister Cobblepot!' One of them indicated Edward's attempted run and Penguin stopped lacing into Batman long enough to turn and see what was happening.

'Don't think you're going anywhere, Nigma.' He spat. 'There's still some things we need to discuss.' Oh that didn't sound good at all. Edward opened his mouth to attempt some form of speech but was cut off by the tip of an umbrella against his throat. 'Namely, how much you're going to repay me for this little mishap.' He was hitting him in the pocket! That stung. 'Of course, I'm not above negotiation._ One leg or two?_'

Oh Jesus, Oswald was pissed.

'First off - What the hell happened?'

He wished he could answer with something, anything. His head really ached and in the cool night air he could feel himself shivering as excess heat leaked from his skin, or was that shock at work?

'I…I-' _Think, Edward, before Cobblepot takes your kneecaps!_

But the whole damn episode was a blank. An annoying, angry blank. He couldn't even remember what he had for breakfast this morning!

'Right you green wanker-' Oswald paused and turned at the sound of a pain filled groan. It sounded almost on par with Edward's experience of waking but was much gruffer.

Edward Nigma was no coward. He'd faced down many people. He'd looked _Croc_ in the _face_, (an endeavour that should not be undertaken lightly) but the sounds of Batman coming back from the dead sent a jolt of fear through him.

This was about to get incredibly dangerous.

'How the hell is he still-' Even Cobblepot seemed incredulous. 'Shoot him you morons!'

The two thugs that held Edward up for inspection dutifully dropped him and went for their weapons.

You absolutely didn't need to be psychic to see what was going to happen here. Edward had seen it happen numerous times to his own thugs. He took a step back and another as rounds were chambered. The caped menace was slowly peeling his face from the dirt but it wouldn't be long until he was up and by then, Edward wanted to be a blur in the distance.

Sure enough, as he turned to run he heard shots being fired and then the meaty sounds of bare-fisted fighting. Cobblepot's squawk of indignity wasn't far behind as Batman targeted him next.

As Edward skidded around the corner, he had to congratulate himself on such a speedy escape.

Two minutes later, he stopped to wipe the sweat from his head and was nearly floored outright by Batman.

_But how?_ He raged inwardly as he struggled. _How the hell could Batman have known-_

It was a pitiful fight and within minutes, Edward was getting intimately acquainted with the pavement. Batman pulled a small tracker from his jacket and smirked in satisfaction. 'Thanks for leading me to Penguin, Riddler.'

Oh. _Oh shit_.

Edward paled as his mind filled in the blanks with horrifying reality. He must have been too curious to resist taking a look at Oswald's precious cargo and he'd led Batman right to it!

He was a dead man if this got out.

Batman hauled him up from the dirty concrete slabs just as the police descended on them.

Well. Now he had all the ugly facts, he just wished he didn't.

One leg or two? He was going to be lucky if he kept his _head_ after this fiasco.

* * *

><p><em>Oh man, Cobblepot was so pissed. The ironic thing about this whole incident is that after the subsequent explosion – Yes the warehouse exploded, that tells you more than you ever wanted to know about what Penguin was holding – and accompanying memory loss, he forgot. Hah. He forgot what Cobblepot was hauling. Irony and twisted karma right there. <em>

A/N: Wow this got…Serious? I didn't sign up for the feels but that's what I've gone and done. *scratches head* So, yeah. Bombs, fire, Batman. It was an interesting night all round. Consider this a companion to Rule #11 – Give Batman distractions. Edward _was_ warned. Didn't listen. Ozzy, don't take his kneecaps! He needs those to run from Batman!

It's ironic that I chose to use this idea because I took a Batman villains quiz for funsies and tried _so hard_ to get Riddler. I ended up with Penguin. *shrugs* Still a win.

PS: My new favourite insult is useless green gimp. Oh _Oswald!_


	16. Rule 16

**#16 Emotions should never factor in **

It was remarkable, really. The ways people joined this profession. Freis joined the ranks of the damned for love, to cure his ailing wife. Of course, he didn't understand at all that even if he cured her tomorrow and left to pursue his happily ever after, it wouldn't last. The path he'd walked for so long - criminality, illegality, and the moral grey area had become habit. Even the return of his lovely wife would make it hard to break. Each and every one of them had tried to go straight at one point or another and found their dangerous habits pulling them back.

Edward stared up at the impassive face of Nora Freis as his digression of criminal activity momentarily flitted through his inner eye. It was a distraction he could ill afford, but that was the nature of the human mind. He was actually trying to think of a way to force Victor's hand. Allies for Edward Nigma never went over too well and he was far too proud to admit he needed them at times. There were only a special few people he would gladly work with and more often than not, they had doctorates and PhD's. One was Jonathan Crane, another was Warren White. The last, he hoped, would be Victor Fries.

'It's strange, the things we do for love, isn't it Edward?' He asked as he approached the silent tableau.

'Speak for yourself, Victor. Love has nothing to do with what we do.' Edward replied, his stare never left the serene expression of Nora Freis.

'You don't believe that?'

'Not for a second.'

'You've spent too much time with Jonathan.' Victor noted.

A small smile made it's way onto his face. 'Perhaps.'

To be frank, after the debacle at the asylum, it became apparent that the ranks of villains which were splintered to begin with were splintering further. It was more important than ever to maintain your ties to others. Edward knew what was coming. He and Freis had never particularly gotten on, nor did they despise one-another in the purest forms of hatred. They simply passed each other, occasionally nodding or swapping information for technology; never worked together nor were they inclined to - but Arkham City was forcing the neutrality aside.

'You've heard then, Edward?' Freis' suit distorted his voice tremendously. It sounded like a robot from a cartoon Edward used to watch as a boy, deliberately devoid of all inflection and emotion.

'Heard? I've known about it for months.' Edward scoffed. 'Strange is far too stupid to get anything past me but I'm suspicious of his motives. I'm not entirely sure he's working alone.'

'I understand he's attempting to trap and expose Batman.'

'Yes, but aren't we all?'

'I only wish to find a cure for my beloved Nora.' Freis replied icily. 'What exactly is your purpose of visiting, Edward?'

It appeared his welcome was beginning to wear thin. Victor had precious little time for anything that wasn't to do with his wife. Anything that _was _leant it unending patience, a quality Edward could barely agree to having himself most days. 'I'm simply offering you a warning.' He shrugged. 'You are aware of the most likely outcome, aren't you Victor?'

'As I understand it, the clown and bird will be too engrossed in a turf war to care about any others.' Freis replied curtly.

'The clown is sick.' Edward replied with one of his more reliable rumours. 'Poisoned by the very chemicals he put into his veins.' Edward shouldn't smile about that but he'd been dreaming and wishing for the clown to drop dead for so long that now that it was actually happening, he could scarcely believe it himself. Maybe there was a god for insane criminals after all.

Freis gave a cold tinny laugh. 'So what exactly has tipped your hand enough to attempt an alliance, Edward?'

'Dent.' He answered simply. 'If I'm right, the power vacuum will allow him to rise to power. There will be three of them fighting for the top spot.' He paused and wondered just how much of his simulations he should reveal.

'Save your breath Nigma.' Victor sighed. 'I will not be getting involved in whatever you're planning to do.'

'I haven't said anything about my plans.' His mood darkened. Freis wasn't even listening properly to his proposal; he was simply allowing him to get his speech overwith!

'You want to form your own alliance to combat those three, or perhaps just Dent. I have made my own calculations and I will do nothing to harm Nora. You must understand this.'

No he didn't. Not in the slightest. He'd never cared about anyone enough to consider their life above his own. It was as far from his nature as could be. Then again, Victor's predicament was radically different to Edward's. He was just pious enough to know that his problems were of his own making, whereas Victor's were all problems of circumstance. He did it all for his wife and it hardly mattered if it was or was not illegal. Briefly, Edward entertained the thought of revealing his predictions in their entirety. He'd run numerous situations through his programs and calculated all the variables he thought most likely to happen. If he were right, then the three way struggle would force the competitors to look for other means of advantage. Namely their fellow rogues and Victor was one of the easiest to manipulate. All you needed was the wife and the husband would be your puppet.

You try to help people…

'I will not be in Arkham City.'

'Oh?' He highly doubted that. Strange would find a way to force him into it. For his part, Edward _wanted_ to be in Arkham City. It was, after all, being prepared for Batman and he had a score to settle with Batman.

Emotions should never factor into a decision but sometimes they do and sometimes it is unavoidable, but each and every time they were involved Edward noticed mistakes were made.

This time, Freis had involved his emotions and it was going to cost him, Edward didn't need his simulations or predictions to see that. The ice-man would regret his decision eventually and Edward would not extend his offer again. He had better things to do.

He turned to leave and offered one last cryptic warning. 'Emotions should never factor into your decisions Victor.'

'No-one can accuse me of being emotional, Edward.' Freis replied, his focus now wholly back to what had his attention before Edward's interruption. 'See yourself out.'

* * *

><p><em>Gotta admit, I'm not a big fan of the cold or Freeze. Speaking as someone who knows Nigma pumps more juice into his precious computers and his traps than environmental controls unless there's a serious risk of hypothermia, I'd rather sweat it out than die of cold. Still, Vicky made a grievous error there, as everyone knows.<em>

A/N: More Arkham City preludes, goddamn I can't stop them! Freeze troubles me. I can write Joker and I can write Edward, I can write Dent and Hatter and an assortment of the rogues gallery but give me someone like Victor and I crumble. Bane is another weakness of mine, hmmm.

Alright, last week's was Penguin, this week it's Freis. Like the unholy trinity of Gotham – next week it's Ivy. Now, next week's instalment is a particular favourite of mine not least because I silently ship them (I absolutely do) But because we're back to Edward making his own miseries. Yay?


	17. Rule 17

A/N: Stitcher what are you _doing?_ It's the weekend! You updated on Monday! Am I in the Twilight Zone? No! It's an early update! Stitcher normally updates on the dreaded Monday to help the day along but since it's a holiday on Monday and Stitcher loves her holidays you lovely watchers can have an early present. Have a happy weekend and a fantastic May Day!

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><p><strong>#17 Do not interfere with others plans.<strong>

Gotham Botanical Gardens was far from a neglected building. It's structure wasn't bordering on ruin and you could hardly mistake the heady scents of it's blooms for rotting shells. Indeed, it was positively thriving thanks to the care of the janitors but hardly anyone went near it. It had survived this long thanks to philanthropic donations from Bruce Wayne.

The reason, of course, was obvious - Poison Ivy. As the largest collection of rare and beautiful plants in Gotham, it was almost certain she would descend on it and the plant lady was as ruthless as Joker when it came to using and killing people. All she _had_ ever and _would_ ever care about were her "babies".

The moist and warm gardens were, for that reason alone, virtually silent.

'_Atchoo!_'

Virtually.

_Damn plants, _Edward huffed as he managed to stumble through and onto a footpath. _Ugh, they're aggravating my allergies._ He sniffed and dug a hand into his pocket for a handkerchief. Unsurprisingly, it was green and one corner held a cluster of embroidered question marks. The cloth went over his nose in a vain attempt to shield his sinuses.

It didn't amuse him in the slightest to know what that pollen was used for, nor did it amuse him to dodge the ever present flies that had somehow survived the janitors' strict eradications. Sweat dripped down his back and beaded his forehead in the warmth.

It was a pleasant spring day outside of the garden's little bubble. There was still a hint of winter chill in the air but the promise of warmth to come. In the hothouse, it could have been dead summer. The smells of compost and earth and again, the disgusting fragrances of the plants. He shed his jacket and stretched, felt the damp shirt cling; Cringed at the unwelcome feeling. He could well imagine the opaque shirt become a warm peach as it met skin and stuck; muscle contours would be picked out in the material.

He wouldn't have been there at all, if it weren't for the pressing desire to hide Batman's next riddle. If he weren't such a control freak, he probably would have perched it on one of the glossy green benches and have been off before now, but an inner need was pressing him to find the _perfect_ place to put it. It had to be challenging, it had to be somewhere he'd never think to look.

His nose wrinkled again, a two second warning to the violent sneeze already threatening to wrack his frame. _Goddamn pollen! It's everywhere!_

The only thing sustaining him through this was the delicious thought that he could simply pay Firefly to burn it to the ground later. He may even pay a little extra to have him salt the dirt at the same time.

His thoughts on burning vegetation were interrupted as he reached the centre of the concentric flower beds and found himself staring at engorged monster of a weed. As though acutely aware of someone watching it, the closed flower shuddered and opened to reveal the beauty at it's centre.

No-one could mistake Poison Ivy. With her petal red hair and green skin she was as exotic as they came. She descended from her throne of vines and paused on occasion to touch one of her many plants.

_How utterly over-dramatic. _

'Edward, so nice to see you again.' She smiled, but it was cold and taut, at least to him. He'd seen what she could do and she would never be warm to him again, not after the several near misses he'd had with her over the years. It didn't take a genius like his to see the danger in Ivy. No doubt he was attracted to her, not simply the result of the pheromones she continuously gave off, but that brilliant mind. The brilliant mind of someone who used to be Pamela Isely before Ivy took over; he'd learned some time ago that it was useless to fantasize about things like that. One's nature cannot be changed by an outside force; if they were so easily dissuaded then they would not be rogues. It looked, however, as though he wasn't what she'd expected.

'Pamela.' He nodded just as curtly. 'Waiting for someone?'

'Batman.' She answered. 'Why are you here?'

So, she was trying to lure Batman toward her. He held up the envelope in answer to her question and she gave off a beautiful laugh. 'Don't bother, this time he will succumb.'

She wanted to add that flying monster to her army of plant zombies? Typical. 'I'm sure you'll understand if I just plant it anyway and be on my way.'

He finally found the perfect place in a vent by the water intake of the sprinkler system. With his clue planted he could walk away and pretend he hadn't seen Ivy at all. In fact, he was preparing to do just that when a thought occurred, a dangerous one.

_She had seemed entirely confident, hadn't she?_ Oh all the rogues were confident of their plans and schemes and they had good right to be unless it involved Batman. But Pamela was entirely confident in her success and it worried him. _What if she succeeded? What if Batgit was a walking, talking slave of Ivy?_

Without Batman, the city would tear itself to shreds before Edward could take over. It would be disastrous, it would be chaos! It would be…_Joker territory_. No rules, no order, no goals except survival and the dumb ones always had luck on their side.

As much as he loathed the idea, he was going to have to sabotage Ivy's plans, to ensure the balance of power was equal until his play.

But how could he do it in the least obvious way? It was bad enough to interfere with another's plans, a sin practically; he didn't need everyone to know he'd helped Batman out, just this once. His eyes fell on the tanks that held the water for the sprinkler system and then lighted to a stack of sacks that carried warning labels. Next to those were tins of paint in red, purple and _green_.

An idea crept into his head and he smirked deviously. Oh he knew a way to balance things out. He just had to give Batman a hint.

Batman had finally shown up and Edward had crept to one of the upper walkways to observe events. He seemed to be wandering towards the centre of the flower display where Pamela was waiting. It took a considerably short amount of time for negotiations to fail and the fight to begin. Batman took off into the jungle of plants in an effort to avoid Ivy and now it was a game of hide and seek.

Edward grinned and watched carefully as The Bat finally found the alarm he'd daubed with green paint and the accompanying fingerpaint riddle. Batman hesitated and Edward laughed quietly to himself, he considered the indecision a compliment on his work.

The Dark Knight finally came to a decision and pulled on the fire alarm. As the bells tolled around them, the sprinkler system broke into action but they were not filled with just water anymore. Edward had added his own secret ingredient.

Weedkiller.

'What? _What?!_ No!' The plants were writhing and dying all around her as the weedkiller destroyed everything. Edward watched from a platform that overlooked the set-up as Batman, thoroughly soaked from the rain of chemicals, began making his way over to Ivy but she'd spotted Edward and let out a feral scream of rage. 'You!'

That hadn't been part of the plan. Edward had not considered the applications of Ivy seeing him after the fact. Of course, who else would it have been that had put the weedkiller in the system? Batman had been thoroughly occupied. He took a step back as she sent vines flying after him and they succeeded in wrapping painfully tight around one leg. _This was definitely not part of the plan!_

He was dragged kicking but thankfully not screaming, down onto her level as Batman paused. Edward was now thoroughly wet and covered in chemicals but Ivy's wild eyed hatred held his full attention. 'How dare you hurt my babies! How _dare_ you help him!'

'Help?' He seemed incredulous. 'I wasn't helping him! I was stopping you from winning!'

A baterang sliced effortlessly through the vine that held him in the air and Edward crumpled as Ivy backed off, howling.

He'd landed in a puddle of watery chemicals. The smell alone was never going to come out of the jacket, if he managed to get the stains out it would be a miracle.

Never again, he was never going to interfere in a rogue's plans again. Good god, just imagine if he'd interfered in one of Jokers! It's hard to be a genius when all that's left is a smear across the nearest wall.

Ivy had fled, probably cursing his name, which left him alone with Batman.

God _damn _it.

The menace seemed undecided about what to do as Edward struggled his way out of the boggy mud with as much dignity as he had left.

'You've got five minutes head start Riddler.' He finally said.

'I hate you, you pointy eared-' Edward seethed as muddy hair stuck to his cheek.

'Four minutes,' The Bat intoned.

'Wh-'

'Three minutes and thirty seconds.'

No more questions, just running, right now. Every second he took trying to ask _why _was a second that Ivy got ahead of him and he'd be damned if he was going back to Arkham after this.

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><p><em>For a genius, he can be a dunce on occasion. Although, I do shudder to think about what Ivy would do with a zombified Batman. I have to wonder, is Ivy even into-? Nevermind. It was nice of Batsy to give him five minutes to find cover, shame he didn't find it in time. <em>

A/N: Gotta confess, I enjoyed writing this for one reason – sweaty Eddie. Not going to lie, it's a little fanservice. Not a lot but it's what you're getting. If I had to pair Eddie with any of the canon characters romantically, I would choose Ivy. No idea why. Maybe it's the green? The thinly veiled threats used as a pseudo-language? The fact both are highly arrogant? All of the above?

Anyway, a big huggy/squeezy thank you to the reviewers who took the time to assure me I didn't screw up Freeze (that much). He_ is_ a difficult character, isn't he? Perhaps that's why you see so little of him. By comparison Ivy's practically fluffy and warm! (But we all know she's not because goddamn the plant woman is as bad as Zsasz.) And they gave such lovely reviews! I love reviews. I am a review whore.

At this point, I should just change the name to "The many ways Edward Nigma's bad luck bites him in the arse," I seem to be going through a vindictive phase of late but if you've enjoyed this one (as I did writing it) Review and tell me so! See you next week!


	18. Rule 18

**#18 Encrypt your data.**

Someone was hijacking his feed, Edward Nigma was sure of it. Whoever they were, they were good but not his standard. If this were a robbery, the thief would be stumbling and cursing loudly, making as much noise as possible.

It had been a rather quiet day which was probably why he didn't shut the little feeler out immediately. It (statistically a he for hackers,) didn't seem to be doing or looking for anything dangerous, merely sauntering through his networks. There was no _direction_.

Hmm.

With nothing else to do, Edward indulged this little distraction and set about hacking the hacker. Who in their right mind would try to hack a rogue's systems? Well, Batman. So far he seemed the only person _capable_ of hacking Edward's precious cloud servers. A grudging gold star for whomever had managed to penetrate his firewalls this time. Surprisingly, the hack was coming from a computer registered to Gotham University.

Now he was slightly impressed. The little cretin was using an ancient dinosaur of a computer from a university that hadn't turned out brilliance for some time. It was hardly difficult to bypass the ancient codes set into the machines, nor was it a challenge to make his presence known.

With a flick of a finger he activated the machine's webcam and smirked in malice.

The gold star was going to be reviewed to a silver. This wasn't a lone hacker; there were a group of three looking at the monitor, confused. He supposed they would, the screen would be filled with gibberish and question marks.

He activated his own.

'I am impressed! Although, I haven't quite decided whether it's your audacity or stupidity I am impressed with,'

'Oh shit!' One of them gulped. 'He noticed!'

He had to admire the horror on their faces. 'Of course I noticed! How could I not, you blundering through my files?'

'Mister Riddler-'

'Mister?' He chuckled. Well, that was a bit overboard. Were they attempting to save their own skins so soon? Pointless really, but the question was, what to do with them? They had hacked his computers and no-one does that without incurring Edward Nigma's wrath, however it had been a humdrum evening and thanks to them he was now thoroughly entertained, for how long remained to be seen.

As always, he couldn't help but indulge himself in the dramatics. He steeped his fingers and looked towards the ceiling in thought.

'Sir-'

'Shh!' He commanded and then smiled. 'I shall give you two choices of redemption.' That seemed to brighten them up but if they thought there was a chance they could escape without serious consequence, they were wrong. 'Option one: Hack the Pentagon.'

'What? No way!' The one in the middle blurted and pushed back.

'Ah? Then you'll want option two: Test one of my new death traps.'

'D-death traps?'

'Oh yes. I always struggle for volunteers that aren't the brain-dead scum of humanity. I can have someone there in less than ten minutes. Those are your options gentlemen. What will it be?'

They huddled and an argument soon ensued over which was the worst thing you could do. 'I told you we shouldn't have hacked him!' One of them moaned. 'You said we wouldn't get caught!'

Edward grinned to himself and basked in the utter confusion and terror he'd just caused. It was always refreshing to go back to basics. He would text one if his useless aides to go there anyway. No doubt they would require some persuasion to make a decision.

'Um…What kind of death-traps sir?'

That wiped the grin from his face. 'The incredibly deadly kind of death-trap, _obviously_. If you _morons_ need that explaining, then you really shouldn't go for the second option, should you?'

Truth be told, he wasn't sure which he'd rather they take. It was always amusing to see someone try – And fail – to best his traps but if they needed the nature of "Death trap" explaining to them, they weren't going to fare well and he was hardly in the mood to listen to his capricious employees moan and complain about the state of the trap they had to clean.

It seemed almost cliché that they would take the first option, but that held things just as deadly as the death-traps. They just weren't as obvious. 'Why do you need to hack the pentagon?' the middle argumentative one asked and his features darkened further.

He was becoming a nuisance. 'Does it matter when I'm threatening your lives?'

'But, isn't that classed as treason?'

Now he was sliding into annoyed. 'If you peons thought you were smart enough to hack _me_, then you should be _easily_ clever enough to break into the country's second most secure servers and not be caught, correct?'

'I-I-'

'Clearly, I'm losing my touch.' He muttered. 'If amateurs like you can gain access.' His phone interrupted his despair and he smirked as he read it. It wasn't a nice smirk. 'Gentlemen, take a look out of your window,' They craned to look down into the street. 'Do you see the young woman leaning against the van?'

'Yes?'

'She's coming up to shoot you in five minutes. Option one or two?'

'You can't do this!' The argumentative one burst out in fear. 'We'll call security!'

'I'm afraid they've already been dealt with. You're wasting time, gentlemen.' As he talked, three sets of eyes darted between the computer and the window, weighing options.

'Lets just do it Donny, I don't want to die!' The plea for life seemed to have snapped them into a decision. Three pairs of terrified eyes turned to look at the computer.

Of course it was option one. Edward didn't particularly want anything from the Pentagon. At least, anything he couldn't get himself without being caught blundering through their servers but this wasn't about getting information. It was about getting even. It was about three insignificant people being put in their place.

They thought they were clever enough to hack him? They were wrong. He was actually doing them a favour, he admitted as he watched their progress. They were painfully inept, just how had they managed to break into his own servers with these laughably called talents? If he had been in a worse mood, he would have just told his employee to shoot them outright but they could serve a purpose.

Oh. The white hats were onto them, it wouldn't be long. They were good, better than his university hackers certainly and he enjoyed playing games with them. This was but a new move in their game of chess.

He turned on the local news and waited. He didn't have to wait long. Several news stations were covering the recent security net around the university. They were brought out by an armed guard of FBI agents, screaming they weren't terrorists. That they'd been forced into doing it, that The Riddler was the mastermind behind it. How nice, free publicity.

Edward sat back with a smile as the story of the terrorist students plunged onward and Vale described the seriousness of the offence. Of course, there was no other outcome when you play games with Edward Nigma. You lose. At least that would serve as a reminder to those who thought it was clever to hack a rogue's systems. To dissuade a repeat performance of this little distraction though, he really shouldn't rely on firewalls alone, he should encrypt his data.

Now there was a thought: Encrypt your data. That should be a rule.

* * *

><p><em>For those of you who weren't given an advanced hacking lesson, courtesy of Edward Nigma, I'll try to make this simple. White Hats, as they're referred to, are the good guys. They trawl computers and servers looking for weaknesses to patch up to prevent outside sources hacking in. They also respond to certain attacks on their software. Black Hats are us, the bad guys. We trawl databases to exploit weakness, sometimes for our own gains and sometimes for a client. Lets just say that Edward enjoys tormenting the sell-outs that signed on with the government, shall we? <em>

A/N: Phew! Almost missed the deadline. You kids thought I wasn't going to update? My bad. Alright, I'll hold my hands up, this one was rubbish. The rule was a good one and lord knows I've been doing well of late, I actually liked what I've posted recently, but I feel I was cursed to fail this one. No matter the angle I came at this, I hated it. This was actually the best concept I had, so enjoy? You also might see our unfortunate trio of hackers later on in the series, no promises though.

At least next week's chapter is guaranteed to be good. We're back to cop Edward. With guns and ego and ….Batman targets?


	19. Rule 19

**#19 Practice makes perfect.**

The firing range of the GCPD was hardly state of the art; it was little more than one unused corner of the building's basement, surrounded by sound-proofing and sandbags. It hadn't seen a lick of paint since the seventies and hundreds of bullet holes, possibly thousands littered the far wall where a cheap paper target hung.

'He can't hit the bullseye, there's no way a pencil-pusher can hit that!' Bullock was loud and brash and absolutely, infuriatingly annoying. Why Gordon had made him a cop, let alone a detective was beyond many people but to Edward Nashton it just seemed stupid.

'I can, and I will,' He smirked knowingly as he carefully cleaned the gun in his hands. He could do this blindfold, and he had. Backwards and forwards, left handed and right, he could put a gun together in his sleep, although he hadn't tested that.

'Alright you're cocky, I'll give you that,' Bullock played with that sodden matchstick in his mouth. 'But why've you painted it to look like Batman?'

'Because you stupid little man, I don't like Batman. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I hate him,' Edward replied with a smile as he checked the sights and loaded bullets.

'We all hate Batman Nasthton,' Bullock grunted and almost involuntarily, his hand clenched around the grip of the gun. He hated that name; he would change it eventually but not before his preparations had seen fruition.

_I've come this far, I can survive just a little longer with these pathetic,corrupt-_

He paused as Bullock shifted but he was just making room for the crowd that had gathered to watch the pissing match.

This wasn't the first time he'd handled a gun, nor was it his hundredth. Edward had anticipated a lot of skill needed for what he was planning to do and had allotted time accordingly. Guns were so simple and deadly to understand, which meant he didn't put aside an unduly large amount of time to master them. True, his hand/eye coordination had taken some adjustment because despite best efforts, his eyesight was never going to be _perfect_ but he'd managed.

He checked the sights one last time before he slipped a pair of goggles over his glasses and noise cancelling headphones over his ears. 'Live round!'

To him, the gun was a muted pop but the assembled crowd flinched as the sound rolled over them. He didn't even bother to look at the flimsy paper; he just needed to see Bullock's face and it was a grimace of disbelief.

The headphones came down around his neck as Bullock snatched the sheet from the pegs and glared at the hole dead-centre in the target's head. 'Dumb luck!' He demanded. 'You can't do that a second time!'

Edward merely sighed. It wasn't a surprise to hear that from a brute like Bullock.

'I'm not payin' a hundred dollars for a fluke!'

'Fluke?' His voice became low and dangerous. His grip increased on the gun as Bullock tossed the sheet onto a table. Fluke? _Fluke?!_ He didn't practice privately for six months to marksman standards to be called a _fluke_.

'You make that shot again Nashton and I'll pay you.' Bullock folded his arms.

'And what will you say then Bullock?' Edward sneered. 'Will that be a fluke as well?'

'Just make the shot again, officer, prove it wasn't a fluke.' The crowd parted to reveal Commissioner Gordon himself.

'Sir,' Bullock seemed surprised. 'What're you doing down here?'

'I was wondering where half my staff are,' Gordon replied evenly. 'Looks like I found them.' He glanced around at the crowd before his eyes alighted onto Edward. 'An impressive shot Nashton,'

'Yeah, yeah,' Bullock waffled a hand. 'He can't make it a second time.'

He should throw the bet, absolutely. He can_not_ afford to draw attention to himself at present, especially in front of Gordon but damn it all, his ego will not let him. There was nothing _fluky_ about his shooting skill.

'Someone get Nashton a new target.' Gordon ordered quietly.

'And paint Batman on it!' Bullock called over his shoulder with a grin.

'You're in high spirits Bullock, for someone about to lose a hundred dollars,' Edward taunted.

'You'll never make the shot.' Bullock returned Edward's cool gaze with a steely one.

'Alright!' Someone called. 'Target's up!'

Edward glanced once to get his bearings and shot it in the head. The room erupted into cheers and clapping as Bullock marched past him to grab the sheet and compared it to the first. The bullet holes were almost identical and most definitely would have been right between the eyes.

'Pay the man Bullock!' Someone at the back shouted and pretty soon the crowd of cops were hooting and jeering at him to pay up. Reluctantly, Bullock dug into his pocket for his wallet and counted out five twenties with bad grace.

'Here!' He shoved the money at Edward and stormed through the crowd.

Ooh he'd found a _new toy. _He always liked new toys. He generally went through them fast. He had to wonder, was Bullock always such a hothead or was this merely an anomaly in his personality? People were streaming past him, stupid, idiot cops and their shop talk. Whose pimp was in the river, who had been caught with what in sensitive areas and which familiar face was found without kneecaps, on and on. They were so petty, so _small_. His musings were interrupted by Gordon. 'An impressive shot, care to let me in on the secret?'

'No secret,' Edward smirked as he folded the small change away and picked up his gun to clean it. 'Just practice.'

'Practice makes perfect, eh?' Gordon rocked on his heels. 'Seems rather an odd hobby for someone who's never going to see street action,'

Edward's hands hardly paused as they stripped and cleaned the pistol. 'You never know Commissioner. You never know.'

Gordon grunted but walked away as sweat dried on the back of Edward's neck.

That was closer than he'd have liked but he'd successfully bluffed his way through. Still, too much attention. His hands worked automatically to put the gun back together as his mind processed the near-miss he'd just had. He couldn't afford to let his pride and ego dictate his actions again and he was sure that Bullock, if not Gordon was suspicious.

With the gun now back together and a fresh clip inserted, he slipped it into it's holster. His roaming eyes, ever on the lookout for fresh information, fell on the two Batman themed targets and he smiled all the same.

Practice certainly does make perfect.

* * *

><p><em>I am constantly surprised and impressed by Edward's commitment to be perfect. Do not tell him I said that, his ego is sufficiently large as it is. He's very good with a gun, not Deadshot good of course but not far behind. Shame he feels they're too cumbersome to keep on him constantly. <em>

A/N: L.D suggested the concept for me, and this has to be one of my favourites so far! We're back to Cop!Edward. I freaking love Cop!Edward. I cannot express that enough. Maybe it's the uniform, maybe it's the espionage, maybe it's because he's _so_ naughty but still pretending to be nice I just- *sigh* there's never going to be enough of naughty Cop!Edward. It's our solemn duty to make more. Get out there and make more! And if you do, send me a link!


	20. Rule 20

**#20 Know your enemy.**

Knowing your enemy was the difference between success and failure as a rogue. Of course, nearly everyone who was on equal or greater footing was an enemy but they weren't the _main_ enemy.

The main enemy was someone everyone - no matter their allegiance or affiliations - wanted rid of.

Batman fell into that category. Interestingly, so did Joker and one other individual.

Edward had plenty to remember Batman by; his leg still ached in cold weather, which went well with the ache in his arm courtesy of his father.

'Officer Boles,' The dark knight growled as he hauled Edward out of his seat and towards the waiting escort. Half his face was coated in blood; he'd broken his nose for the fourth time, that flying _bastard!_

Edward slipped and fell onto the dirt strewn leaves huffing and cursing when the steel-grip on his shoulder was released. Blood dripped steadily into the leaves as he breathed, despite the pain. Damn, Batman. It wasn't bad enough he'd cheated his way out of the death-trap and broken his nose, but he'd personally delivered him to Arkham!

Edward had hoped for miracles, but it seemed once again his luck had other ideas.

He recognised the deceptively light steps of Arkham's most infamous doctor as his elbow throbbed in mildly distracting pain. Oh not _him_. After the day he'd had, really? Not long after, Strange passed serenely through the crowd of smirking guards.

'Ah, there you are Edward.' He seemed unsurprised to see him. 'I hope he was not too much trouble for you, dark knight?'

'Nothing I couldn't handle,' Batman replied. Normally, something like that would have infuriated him but Batman was no longer the focus of his attention. There were few people Edward hated that much more than Strange.

Though Strange tried to hide it, he could see the hungry look in his eyes as the winged menace of Arkham leapt back into his outrageous car and revved the engine.

Was he actually aware of the uproar that noise alone caused to the degenerates that shared the asylum? He probably didn't. Now that Batman had successfully departed, that left him in a rather precarious position.

Upon his earlier escape he had actually threatened and boasted to do quite horrible things to the guard's families. Things he hadn't gotten around to doing, _granted_ but-

'Welcome home Nigma,' Boles grinned. Whiskey breath washed over him.

It appears they had not forgotten that fact either. He was surprisingly unconcerned with them; despite the lewd, almost aggressive stances they'd taken. They were the remora that circled the larger predator.

He'd also boasted one or two of Strange's secrets too, before the man managed to disable the speaker systems and he would not have forgotten that fact either.

_That_ was a problem.

'Indeed,' Strange smiled and Edward felt an unwanted shiver down his spine. 'Welcome back, Edward.'

How dare he, how _dare_ he act so jovial. Like nothing had happened. Like Edward didn't even _matter_. At the very least, Batman took him seriously. At the very least, he was treated as an equal. He wouldn't be his better until the Bat had failed to crack his genius but Strange…He just wanted to break. There was something about Strange that grated across his very soul, not least because of their scuffles of late. He thought himself untouchable and Edward wanted _nothing_ more than to take that security away from him. Even Joker loathed him and Joker could usually find something nice to say about _anyone_, even if that meant he liked them better dead.

'I think- that is the warden thinks that this latest escape should be punished, Mister Nigma.'

'Where are we taking him, Doc?' Boles grinned.

'Solitary.'

Great. A few weeks of slop, dismal lighting and only Strange's face to look forward to while his nose fused in it's current alignment.

'How long?'

'Three months should suffice.'

_What?_ He'd go _insane!_

His temper flared despite the current situation and he tried to lash out at his tormenter. Just how many times had he done it to bullies on the playground? They always backed down, left him alone after a while rather than deal with his impossible rage but Strange was one of the _other_ kind of bullies. Joker thought it was hilarious to torment him, Strange just liked to study the reactions.

He was intercepted inches from Strange's face, much to his fury.

'Make that six months,' Strange smiled as he was subdued, anagramming insults under his breath.

There were things darker and closer to his heart than Batman to hate and Strange was number one.

He knew who the real enemy was.

* * *

><p><em>I don't like Strange. I'll admit that. He's like Joker to me: avoid like the plague and I hardly need to explain that distaste, do I? I think it's those stupid little glasses on his face. They're so small- just what is the point of them? And the beard, the freaking beard. And the fact that no matter what you do – He's in your head, making a nest that you'll never be rid of. Fucksake – he's worse than Crane!<em>

_I did however, manage to get Edward out a month later. What did I get for my efforts? Bitched at. Should have been a fortnight my ass. _

A/N: I feel sorry for Eddie. He has ways of making his own life that much more difficult that it's hard to hate him. This takes place in no particular point around Asylum and City; it's just something that would not leave me alone. It's wrong, but I had so much fun with this. I also hate Strange, so freaking much. I just- I hate him the most.

**Announcement!:** When I first dreamed up all forty-four rules I thought to myself _holy nutballs._ Forty four single scenes involving Edward Nigma and possible cameos from Arkham's patient list? HELP! So I drafted in a few friends to pitch in. The first of which is for the next chapter and I will credit them in the Author Notes. If there's no credit in there, then yours truly wrote things. Just pre-warning you. I will also _not_ be taking requests to do guest chapters. I'm sorry but there are only forty-four rules. The guest ficcers have already been decided, drawn their lots and written their pieces.

Now, you may be thinking: But why Stitcher? Well, it's complicated. First off: I never assumed this series would get quite the reaction it did. Second: I never thought I'd enjoy and even improve my writing with such a deranged ego. Thirdly: Stitcher recently became an aunt. To a very grumpy baby. Her mind's been taken over – And rotted with – baby stuff. Fourth: The majority of this is my work and I deserve a break, if only to recoup some creativity and give justice to the disembodied ego that is Edward and Lastly: Because it's nice to see him from a perspective that isn't mine. I like seeing how other people write him and it keeps the series fresh.

Until next time, children.

**EDIT:** _Holy Christ, this chapter just broke 4k story views. Um, THANK YOU!_


	21. Rule 21

**Rule # 21 – No One Should Know About The Hideout**

"Eddie, baby, I'm home!"

Oh no. No, no, he knew that voice. "It can't be," Edward muttered, turning around in his computer chair.

"Oh, I love what you've done with the place! It's green and...green! Really, Riddle-boy, you oughta change up your décor a bit. It's a little...boring."

"Joker! What are you doing here?" Edward demanded.

"Well, I just wanted to stop by and see how my favorite smarty pants is doing! We haven't talked in a while," Joker said, walking up to Edward. "I was starting to think you didn't like me!"

Edward glared in mistrust. "We wouldn't want that, would we, Joker?" He deadpanned.

"No, no we wouldn't."

"What are you really doing here?" Edward snapped, shoving out of his chair so he could distance himself from Joker.

"Well, I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by and-"

"Joker, Riddler!" The brooding and rough voice of Batman invaded Edward's lair.

"Oh, right, that too. I was being chased by our favorite flying rodent. Really, Batman, what took you so long? I was afraid I might've lost you back there."

Riddler fumed, rounding on Joker. "You lead him here to my-"

"Well, I was closest to your lair, Eddie. Be thankful I considered you worthy enough to bask in my presence."

"The only place the two of you will be basking in each other's presence is at Arkham, where you belong," Batman growled. Edward reached for his cane. If that oversized rodent thought he was going back to Arkham without a fight, he was wrong.

Batman made the first move.

His fists collided with the two costumed crooks.

Joker started to giggle.

Edward cracked Batman upside the head with his cane.

"The next time you feel like stopping by, Joker, don't!" He yelled, blocking one of Batman's punches.

"Eddie, really, what would be the fun in that?" Joker managed to kick Batman in the chest, knocking him backward.

"Oh, I don't know, staying alive?!" Edward seethed. He shoved Joker to Batman and started running, forgetting that Joker was a man that could hold a grudge, and would.

"Eddie, I really am starting to think you don't like having me around!" Joker called after him. "It's rather...insulting!"

"I don't care!" Edward yelled, wrenching open the door and running outside.

"Eddie! What're you doin' out here?"

Edward sighed. "Hello, Ms. Quinn."

"You're supposed ta be in there with Mistah J!" Harley accused, walking towards the green man. "Did you...leave him all alone with B-Man?!"

"Harley, I'm sorry but-"

_**CLUNK**_

Edward groaned, rubbing his head. "Really, Harley, was that absolutely-"

_**CLUNK**_

"You left my Mistah J all alone with B-Man! You horrible, horrible-"

"Harley, start the car!" The two turned to look at the entrance of the lair. Joker was coming out with Batman hot on his coattails. "We're blowing this popsicle stand!"

Edward somehow ended up in the passenger's seat and Harley climbed into the drivers, starting the car.

"Let's get out of here!" He screamed at Harley.

She nodded frantically, twisting the key in the ignition.

"Harley, don't leave without me!" Joker jumped, landing in the backseat of the car. "Now we can leave, let's go!"

Harley floored it.

The purple cadillac zoomed through the streets, barely managing to keep the paint job intact while the Batmobile followed in hot pursuit. "Batsy, baby, really, I know I'm irresistible but I'd like some...alone time...with Eddie and Harley!" Joker yelled, reaching under his seat.

"Leave me out of this, clown!" Edward snarled.

"Sorry, Eddie, it looks like its a little too late for that, hehehehehe!"

_**BOOM**_

"What was that?" Edward demanded. He turned back. The Batmobile had gone up in flames.

"Well, I just thought I'd give our little Dork Knight an early-"

"I don't care! Pull over!"

"Eddie, B-Man's on our tail still!"

"Pull over! I want nothing more to do with you ridiculous fucking maniacal clowns!" Harley slammed on the breaks.

"Ya know Eddie? Words hurt!" She snapped.

Edward scrambled out of the car and darted over to the sidewalk. "You owe me a new lair!" He yelled after them as they zoomed away. He hunched his shoulders and started walking towards Jonathan's lair, taking out his cellphone. He dialed the Scarecrow.

"Jonathan?" He muttered once the other man picked up. "I'm coming over. The clown led Batman to my- Jonathan? Why not? No, he hasn't put a tracking-"

"Riddler."

"Dammit, Joker!" Edward yelled. His shoulders slumped and he turned and glared at Batman. "I just wanted a quiet night at home!" He raged. "Quiet!"

"Don't worry; you'll be having quiet nights back at Arkham, Riddler."

When he got his new lair, he'd have to be more choosy over who knew where it was. It wouldn't do to have a constant stream of unsavory and unwanted guests.

* * *

><p><em>"Hey there, welcome to the Clarice and Lizben Funtime Show! Switch and Stitch are currently...tied up at the moment."<em>

_"I said I'd let you guest write, you didn't have to take us captive," Stitcher yelled from the sidelines._

_Lizben frowned. "But...it's not as fun that way!"_

_"Fun, schmun, can we please get back to how stupid my boyfriend is? Please?" Clarice demanded, turning to look at the two writers. They sheepishly looked down in their laps._

_"Wait...dude, where's Switch?" Lizben asked, looking around the room. "Clarice! Get her! She's running away!"_

_Switch paused and turned to look at them wide-eyed._

_**THUMP**_

_"Dammit, 'Rice!" She groaned. "You didn't have to tackle me!"_

_"But it's more fun this way!"_

_"Aren't we supposed to focus on Edward?" Switch asked._

_"Oh right. Yeah. Edward's stupid, yadda yadda yadda, should've expected Joker to cause some trouble, yadda yadda yadda," Clarice muttered._

_The two authors exchanged suffering glances._

_"Don't forget to review, favorite, and follow if you like the madness! We hope you've enjoyed!" Lizben called before the two were being pulled out of the room by Edward and Jonathan._

_"Keep writing, you insufferable harpies!" Jonathan snarled._

_"They want to see more of us!" Edward tugged Stitch in one direction with Switch following while Jonathan pulled Lizben away with Clarice shaking her head at their actions._

_"I should've kept with the X-Men! They never treated me this way!" Lizben screeched._

A/N: In case you failed to take note of the hilarious anecdote written, this special guest chapter is courtesy of **L.D. Eddy**, the author of **Liberate** and one of those sick writers that enjoys torturing characters. It's true. She does. It's brilliant. Thanks Liz!

Oh and don't worry, Edward and Jonathan will be together again, being _friends _in the upcoming rule 25.


	22. Rule 22

A/N: Stitcher's had a bit of a sucky day. There's only so many times it can rain on you before you believe someone or something is having a joke. I'll never take being warm and dry for granted again. In deference to that fact, have an early update! Because. Just because.

Also: Weathermen should be shot when they're wrong. I was wearing shoes that were _not designed to get wet._

* * *

><p><strong>#22 Always have a getaway plan.<strong>

Edward Nigma had weaknesses, plenty of them. He was quick to anger, an obsessive compulsive and not a team player in any capacity. and they were only the first of his weaknesses one tends to notice. He was also a natural narcissist, an ardent campaigner for eugenics and_ highly_ annoying but that was beside the point.

His biggest weakness, especially after a long stint in Arkham, was McDonalds. Of course he knew it wasn't real food but there was something so good about eating thrice processed beef and rubbery cheese after the trash Arkham inmates were presented with that he couldn't bring himself to understand why. Maybe it was a guilty pleasure thing.

Every restaurant in Gotham had been hit up by him at random at some point and he made it clear that informing the police about his one routine habit would go _very_ badly for the company, not to mention the foolish employees that informed the police about it. _Special_ attention would be paid to those people.

It had become a regular occurrence and many of the trainees were warned prior to his arrival that he sometimes frequented the fast food chains, mainly to avoid uncomfortable complications like cleaning blood from the tile.

Today was no different. While the police were scouring the Narrows and the Docks for him after his breakout two hours ago, he was actually sat in a 24 hour McDonalds in the more affluent part of the city. At this hour, there were hardly any adults but a substantial amount of teenagers who ignored him and were ignored in return.

He took a seat and pulled out his brand new phone courtesy of an emergency PO Box he'd taken out during his last paranoid curve and began to catch up on the news. It didn't take the morons manning the check-out long to notice him, but they all knew his order. He was practically an urban legend.

Five minutes later, as he was responding to e-mails a pimply youth approached bearing a tray. If his hands shook any harder, his coke was going to spill. 'M-mister Riddler sir-'

'Put the tray down and walk away,' He frowned as he found an e-mail from Joker. Who knew Joker knew how to use e-mail? Delete. Jonathan enquiring about his lackey's whereabouts. They were both still in Arkham, delete. The Broker – what happened to his retail space? Batman. Batman happened to it. Save that for later.

He sat back and sighed. Freedom was all the sweeter knowing that he was miles from the search to find him. His hand reached out, plucked a fry from the batch and soundly dunked it into the paper cup of ketchup. Followed by another, and another.

There was so much he needed to do. Mannie and Zowie needed to be brought out of Blackgate, He had to hold a very expensive meeting with the Broker, or - if he would no longer do dealings with him - Penguin. There were equipment and shipment orders to place, he needed his precious chalkboards, he needed….

He needed more fries. In the minutes he'd let his mind wander, he'd devoured the whole carton. Not surprising to a man who had shed a stone since incarceration, as if he needed to get any skinnier.

He knocked on the table and pointed to the empty packet.

What else needed his attention?

Great White Shark wanted his take on a sketchy dealer; small time, hardly worth the minute background check but he _was_ willing to pay. - Save. An unknown sender wanted his help liberating millions from a Kenyan bank. Edward would much rather liberate funds from the man's own bank. – Spam.

It was nice to ingest real food. Actual food with taste. Even if it happened to be fast food. Arkham cuisine was not fine dining.

He hardly heard the jaunty bell on the door, who in their right mind would know to look for him here?

A shadow fell across the table. After a minute he scowled and turned to give whichever fool was looking over his shoulder a warning. 'Do you mind?!'

Batman.

_Shit._

'I knew I'd find you here, Riddler.'

No gadgets, no cane, no plan.

_I really, __**really **__hate Batman. _

'Come back quietly, Nigma. Don't make it difficult.'

_In hell._

He grabbed his coke and flung it at that hideous cowl. As Batman reared back, he planted him with the flimsy plastic tray. That wasn't going to do much, but it was going to give him a head start and there was hardly a soul who could catch Edward Nigma at his fastest.

He leapt the counter, to the surprise of the pimple faced youth and bolted for the back door. Somewhere behind him, Batman was cursing. 'Oracle! I lost him!'

He allowed himself a smirk as he skidded out of the parking lot and for the stolen car he'd had the forethought to park across the street. There was absolutely no way he was going to be dragged back just hours after freedom, that would be a new low. Not even Joker managed that.

He was almost on it – fumbling with the cursed keys in fact - when a black menace came out of nowhere and smashed him into the car. Something snapped, he could feel it. Blood was gushing down his face as he collapsed and slumped against the car.

His nose was on fire! Somewhat dazed, he touched the throbbing mass of pain and noted his fingers had come away covered in strings of blood.

Third broken nose.

'Never mind, I found him again.' _Smug bastard_.

He was forced around and handcuffed as his shirt soaked up the never ending gush.

Two hours of freedom. Two hours and a broken nose. He was going to be a laughing stock!

Next time, he should have a better getaway plan. Even for McDonalds.

* * *

><p><em>I'm going to let you people in on one of Edward's secrets. Obviously he knows the secret sauce recipe and how the chains just magically appear but the best one: He hacks into their servers and makes an order for them to build restaurants near his hideouts. You ever driven past a McDees and thought 'God they mustn't get a lot of customers, why'd they build all the way out there?' Edward. Though, he stopped doing it after Batman cottoned on. And now you know. <em>

A/N: Seriously, this has to be my favourite, simply because every chain of McDonalds in Gotham knows him and his order. I love the fact that Edward Nigma inhales junk food and that he's almost as feared as Joker to the poor, mindless minimum-wage workers. Now, since this is his third broken nose, I suppose this takes place before rule 20, because rule 20 was his fourth. Wibbly, wobbly – timey wimey. I also don't know what its like to have a broken nose, but I imagine it goes something like this. Stitcher watches a lot of medical shows.

This is number 22. You know what that means? We're halfway! Stitcher gets to celebrate! So I feel I have to ask because I'm nosy/curious. What's been your favourite rule so far?


	23. Rule 23

**#23 Beware of Tetch and his Tea.**

It was an odd thing to begin with, but Edward wasn't going to miss an opportunity like this. Of course he wouldn't.

Being the newest rogue to Gotham he knew that it would be a good idea to get to know the other rogues a bit better. Learn their tactics and weaknesses and then, when the time came, use them against them.

Though, he was very surprised to get a call for the Mad Hatter asking him to come and help him solve the famous riddle, 'Why is a raven like a writing desk?' How could Edward resist such a captivating riddle?

He walked along the Bowery til he came to the hat shop on the corner.

The lights were out, but with Tetch that didn't really mean anything.

Edward walked inside and made for the room towards the back where Tetch was most fond of hiding.

He gently knocked with his cane and noted that the paint was peeling. The door creaked opened and revealed the Mad Hatter himself, hat and all standing with a cup of tea in his hand.

Edward silently wondered if there was ever a time when the Mad Hatter didn't have a tea cup in his hand. A grin spread its self across the Hatter's face as he greeted the new rogue with all the joy of wonderland.

"My dear friend! I'm so happy you arrived! I was beginning to worry; I thought a _bat _might have found you."

"No, no bats or police. It was actually quite a silent night for once," explained Edward.

Jervis nodded his head. "Well, come in, come in. I have the kettle on and the table is already set, we can sit at it now," Jervis beckoned his companion inside.

Edward slowly walked in. He was being cautious, but only because he was new to the rogues gallery, he didn't know how the rogues reacted with each other.

"Come, come, come my friend and sit. The time has come to talk of many things," laughed Jervis as he sat down at the head of the table.

Edward slowly sat at the table and was surprised to not see any henchmen wearing rabbit masks."So, Jervis about that riddle,"

"Oh yes, yes, yes! My good friend answer that riddle please! I have tried and tried and have never succeeded."

Edward tapped his chin in thought. "Well, I believe there are actually quite a few answers," he started off, "One of them being they both produce notes and they are always flat."

Jervis beamed with delight. "Oh my! You did it, you managed to answer the unanswerable riddle!"

He grinned with pride; his ego was getting bigger by the minute. Just then the kettle began to whistle, Jervis jumped off his seat and walked towards the kitchen.

"Prey tell my friend, what are the other answers?" asked Jervis as he poured the tea into two cups.

"Well they both have inky quills as in ink wells and they are never spelt the same way backwards," Edward frowned and muttered. "Or something like that."

Jervis skipped back into the room holding two cups in his hand a huge smile on his face. "Lets have a cup of tea to celebrate!" he cried as he handed one to Edward.

Edward took the cup and drank it's contents before placing it down on the table.

Jervis smiled at him as he studied his companion, just waiting and watching.

Edward looked up and Jervis and smirked. "So have I helped in any way?"

Jervis nodded his head. "Oh yes you have! And you will help me in more ways then one!"

Edward blinked a couple of times. "What?"

Jervis grinned. "More tea, Riddler?"

Edward stared at Tetch in confusion as the room began to tilt and spin a little.

Edward frowned. Rooms weren't meant to do that. "What did you put in the tea?" he slurred.

Jervis grinned. "Oh a spoon full of sugar helps the sleeping pills go down," he chuckled.

Edward went wide eyed. How could he of been so stupid?! He tried to get up, but the drug was already taking effect on him. "Jervis!" he grit out as he glared across the table at the Mad Hatter.

"Pleasant dreams, my riddling friend," whispered Jervis as Edward's world slowly went black.

* * *

><p>"Uuhh, my head. What happened?" groaned Edward as he came round form the drug.<p>

"Ahh, you're awake. More tea Dormouse?"

Edward blinked. "W-what? Who's Dormouse?"

"Why you of course!" Smiled Jervis as he poured a cup of tea.

Edward went wide eyed. "What?!"

"I believe I said-"

"I know what you said, Jervis, but that's not what I'm getting at-"

"My name is The Mad Hatter! Dear me Dormouse, you must be still asleep," Jervis exclaimed while shaking his head.

It was then that Edward suddenly realised he couldn't move. He cast his mind back to the last thing he remembered, "You're using mind control on me!" he about screamed.

Jervis hissed and covered his ears. "Not so loud! Naughty Dormouse, you are meant to be quiet. I guess, if needs be, I can always solve that problem myself." He mused darkly which waas not a comfort to Edward Nigma.

Edward tried to move his arm or even a finger, but he just couldn't do it.

"When did you stick the mind control on me?" he growled as he glared back at Hatter.

Jervis smiled and tilted his head to the side, very much like a birds. "Why, when you were sleeping of course!"

"Of course," muttered Edward as he looked around the room. Same room, that was a good sign. He looked down at his form with his eyes, as he was unable to move his head. Same clothes, meant Jervis hasn't gone so insane as to change his outfit.

"Jer- Hatter. What do you plan on doing to me?" he asked as he continued to move his finger.

"Why, we're going to have a tea party! It will be so much fun Dormouse!" Jervis continued his little rant, but Edward wasn't paying attention beyond asserting he wasn't in danger of dying just yet. He was concentrating on his finger, trying to get to move.

It was in this odd moment that Edward began to think about himself and the rogues. He was the newest rogue and also, at the current standing, the youngest. He sighed in annoyance and continued to try and move his finger. The problem about being so new was, well, no one respected you and if any one found out about this…

Edward shuddered at the thought and cursed Tetch and his tea. "Hatter?"

"Yes Dormouse?"

Edward swallowed. This plan he had was insane and might not work, but they do say 'if you can't beat them, join them' "I was wondering when the others were going to arrive. Our tea might go cold and that would never do."

Jervis began to grin and Edward hoped this would work. Distracting Jervis wasn't a difficult thing to do, but it was keeping him distracted long enough to get some kind of grip on his own body and escape to get revenge. Edward grinned. Oh yes revenge sounded _good._

"Oh Dormouse! I don't know when they are coming, but if they don't hurry, they'll be late!" replied Jervis.

"Late for what?" asked Edward as he slowly began to move his finger a little.

"Batman." he answered with a slight grin.

Edward glanced up at him and blinked. Batman was coming here? Then he paled. Oh no! He was _not_ going to be seen looking like _this_ in front of Batman. No way on earth was that going to happen. He'd been humiliated enough with being tricked in the first place, Batman coming to his rescue and helping him get out of Jervis's mind control was just going to be embarrassing. He began to concentrate even more on moving and managed to get his finger to move, then his whole hand. He grinned to himself. Of course he could get out of this. His mind was _perfect._

"What are you doing Dormouse?" Jervis was walking slowly over to him.

Edward glanced up at him and gave his best smile. "Why I'm just thinking I don't really look the part. I need something to wear and you'd better hurry. We don't want to be late for Batman's tea party do we?"

Jervis went wide eyed and shook his head. "Oh no of course not! Stay right there I'll go and get you something."

Once Jervis had left Edward began to concentrate on moving his feet. So long as he could get out of here… well then he would be fine. He looked down as best he could and grinned. They were moving. The he began to move his arm so he could lift it up and take the mind control device off his head. Once he did that his brain _ached_. He grumbled and rubbed his head, picking his hat up and his cane and walked towards the exit.

Suddenly Jervis came into the room. He looked shocked to see Edward standing up.

"But... how did you…?" Jervis glared at him and hissed. "Sit down in your chair right now Dormouse!"

Edward shook his head. "I'll only sit down, if you answer my riddle," he said calmly.

Jervis grinned and nodded his head.

Edward smirked, leaned down and said in a harsh whisper. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

Jervis's mouth went slack and he just stared at Edward who grinned at him and walked calmly out of the shop.

Suddenly Hatter came running out and shouted. "I know! Because they both produce flat notes!"

Edward grinned. "Oh no, that's not the answer."

"But you said-"

"I said it was _an_ answer not _the_ answer. Goodbye Jervis," he said with a small wave of his hand to a very angry and annoyed Hatter.

Edward's growing reputation was still intact. Thank goodness.

* * *

><p><em>Oh sure, Edward. Tetch isn't going to talk about this til the end of the earth, lord forbid. We sometimes still hear the story when Jervis gets a little confused and calls him Dormouse. Edward and I are in complete agreement however; We hate Tetch and his damn hats and should I ever get the order to kill that skirt-chasing teacup merchant I'll take the utmost satisfaction in doing so. Until then, we're all going to have to suffer through Tetch's little tricks.<em>

A/N: And this is an extra-special guest chapter by **Bat-teen28** of **Beaten Again** and **A Rogue A Day**. I loved reading it immensely and I hope it got as many laughs out of the readers as it got out of me. Poor, poor Edward.

I have not said this for what seems like an age, but now I'm going to. _Thank you_ from the bottom of my heart for all the comments, faves and follows of The Rules. Edward would say thank you too but he's too busy plotting my incredibly painful demise, inch by inch especially over the amount of broken noses and jackassery I document and I should probably say _thank you_ to my wonderful guest writers too who took the time to write my chapters for me! God they deserve the reviews, so please do give some!

Oh and look at my shiny new avatar! I love it. It looks like me, the character even sounds like me. Internet cookies for whomever knows what stop-motion animation that it's from and apologies if people usually look for the garish Union Jack and feel confused.

_**Edit:** So this chapter has broken into 5k story views. 1000 new views in three chapters. I'm impressed and a little alarmed. So thanks?_


	24. Rule 24

**# 24 Don't go into the sewers alone.**

Why? Why had he done this? He could have got in a car or ran down an alley, but no; he went down the sewers.

Edward grumbled to himself as he walked through the sewers, trying his best not to step on any rats that were scurrying around his feet. The last thing he needed was an irritated Ratcatcher after him too. Not that he was afraid of Otis Flannigan, the maniac was beneath him.

Still, there was one person he was worried about meeting in the sewers: Waylon Jones, aka Killer Croc. Edward had seen some of the footage that they had at the GCPD, when he worked there. After watching them for a few hours, he hastily decided that he would never get on Croc's bad side, no matter how stupid the man was, to make Croc angry was like asking for suicide.

"So why did I go down the sewers?" Edward grumbled to himself. Suddenly he tripped over and landed on the grimy ground with a thud. "Lovely," grumbled Edward as he got to his feet. His suit was filthy with sewer water and grime but what had he tripped over?

Looking back he saw a bone lying on it's side near the water's edge.

It looked human.

Edward gulped and backed away from the bone. Oh it was a good job Jon wasn't here. He would probably find Edward's look of sheer panic funny. He turned a corner and walked into something. "Oh now what?" he muttered as he got to his feet. "If this is another dead….. end…" he trailed off and went wide eyed as the huge figure of Croc stood in front of him.

Eyes glowing faintly green, teeth shining in the dim light and his scaly skin was wet and rough to the touch. "Well what do we have here? Ya' a toothpick or something?" Croc laughed as he stared down at Edward. Now Edward thought he was tall, but standing next Croc… well it was laughable at how small he was, but Edward wasn't laughing.

"Croc," Edward was able to choke out after a long time of being silent. "How… nice to see you again." Croc bent his head down and inspected Edward before taking a deep sniff, his eyes opened with a new predatory gleam in them.

Oh no.

"I'll enjoy feasting on your bones Nigma!" Croc growled as he took a swing at him.

Edward dodged before he turned tail and sprinted away from Croc, at least until he came to some wooden boards. They were the only way across the water to the exit.

"Oh… damn it!" Edward shouted and ran across the wooden planks. He heard a splash from behind him, he paused and turned around but Waylon was nowhere to be seen. Where had he gone? Giant lizards can't disappear into thin air, unless….

Suddenly the wooden board he was standing on splintered and a giant reptilian hand grabbed his leg. Before he even understood the gravity of it, was pulled under. "HEL-!" was all Edward was able to get out before he was fully submerged with Croc dragging him down.

Edward struggled and kicked, but it was useless and he was quickly running out of air. This was not how he wanted to die, granted there was no _preferred_ way he would wish to die, but almost drowning and then being eaten by a giant crocodile man must have come in as one of Edward's least favourite ways to go. Certainly in the top three.

In an unexpected turn of events, something forced Croc to relinquish Edward and then; that same something grabbed the limp riddling villain by the collar and pulled him up towards the surface. Edward coughed and spluttered as he climbed onto the somewhat safe, somewhat dry side of the sewers.

He spit the disgusting water out of his mouth and turned to look at his saviour.

The dark shadow of Batman loomed over him.

_Oh great, now I have the embarrassment of him saving me! I'm going to be the laughing stock of the asylum_, Edward grumbled in his head. _Again._

He slowly got to his feet and looked at Batman dead in the eye. "Batman."

"Riddler," Batman replied.

Edward heard a splash from the water and, his senses on high alert, he quickly turned to see Croc climbing out of the murky depths.

Batman threw a Batarang at Croc, the same time as a rough gauntleted hand grabbed his collar and pulled him away from the huge reptile. They ran towards the exit and quickly climbed up the ladder; Croc wouldn't follow them up there, he preferred hunting in his environment.

Edward stood in the middle of an alley, examining his new suit, which was now newly ruined; he was not happy about that and his usually bulletproof ego had taken a bombing with Batman saving him from Croc.

Batman!

Edward went to run but Batman grabbed his collar again, threw him against a wall. He was handcuffed in such a way, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get his fingers to reach the lock to unlock it. "I hope you've learned your lesson Riddler," Batman growled.

Was it just Edward or did he hear a snigger at the end of that sentence? He was not paranoid – much - but that really did sound like a snigger!

"But knowing you," Batman continued as he pulled out his grapple gun. "You probably haven't."

Edward narrowed his eyes as Batman grappled away from him.

Oh he had learned his lesson; he had most certainly learnt it. From now on he was always taking someone with him. Simply so he could feed that unfortunate being to Croc and then get away himself.

Edward sighed and leaned against the wall, waiting for the incompetent GCPD to finally arrive to take him back to his 'home sweet home' as it were. "Note to self," Edward muttered as he glanced over to the manhole cover, "Never go into the sewers alone."

THE END!

* * *

><p><em>It took near drowning to come to that conclusion? Nigma you need your head examined. It's a big, scaly, cannibalistic lizard. What other conclusion do you think you could have reached?! Super-geniuses. Honestly. <em>

A/N: Batty and L.D. get internet cookies! Did I mention my utter adoration for Coraline? Or stop-motion animations in general?

Yet another glorious story by **Bat-teen28**! Did it give you the giggles? It certainly gave me them. I feel so bad for Eddie. That suit will never be clean again and he was rescued by _Batman. _Rescued by the same flying rodent he was trying to avoid, there's the definition of irony.

The next rule is something I'm excited to get out. Because it involves Scarecrow. I love the ones with Scarecrow in. Edward doesn't. It's a very volatile friendship.


	25. Rule 25

**#25 Crane can poison you any number of ways.**

Accepting gifts of an edible nature was always a slight risk in a criminal career. Poison and mind altering drugs were widely available and then there were those whose trade almost exclusively depended on such acts. Like Pamela or Jonathan.

Accepting food or drink from Doctor Jonathan Crane was possibly one of the dumbest things anyone could do, but sometimes it happened. Jonathan had perfected his toxin in all three states. Gas, liquid and solid. He could slip it into anything at any time.

It happened to Edward because of distraction and an empty stomach. He should have known something was up when a plate of sandwiches appeared. His stomach had growled and like an idiot, he'd gone for one of the ham triangles.

It was only when the letters on his monitor screen began to laugh at him that he understood the _idiocy_ of what he'd just done.

Edward had seconds. He pawed through the various drawers and papers around his precious monitors but he couldn't find it. He _needed_ it. Where was it, _where was it?_

'Looking for this?' He turned in alarm and the walls all but melted at the sudden shift. Concentrate. He had to keep concentrating on what was real. Jon was leant against the doorway, his slender fingers wrapped around a small clear vial. The fact that Jonathan had it was far, _far_ from a good sign. Anyone having even a modicum of immunity or neutralisation to his toxin was on Crane's list of people who provoked a reaction. An angry Jonathan Crane was a sight to behold. It was best, if you did possess something like an antidote, that Scarecrow never found out about it. 'Why, Edward, have you been _cheating?_' He hardly seemed surprised.

Edward lunged for the antidote just as Jonathan stepped back and he fell to the dusty floor in anger. 'Where did you even get something like this?' The skinny man wondered as he inspected the contents.

'Batman,' He huffed. It hadn't been difficult. One of the first things you do when you have that flying git cornered is take that damn utility belt off him, it just so happened that during their last encounter, he'd grown curious and began searching through the pockets. In one, he'd found a small canister of toxin antidote. It hadn't been difficult to replicate but a sense of thrift made him hold on to the formula. It would be worth something to someone…Eventually.

Crane was inspecting the vial carefully as Edward struggled to maintain grip of reality. It was getting harder to ignore the shadows coalescing into various figures of his murky past. Nashton Senior, Batman and Arthur Brown were just the three most recognisable.

'Jonathan, I need that antidote. Give it to me!'

'Where are your manners?' Scarecrow sneered.

'Please. Please?' He really didn't want to go through this right now-

The vial dropped in front of him with a soft 'plink' on the floorboards and thankfully didn't break. Edward's hands shook as he pulled and yanked at the stopper hungrily. He could hear their voices, getting louder, words on the cusp of his hearing and he knew for a fine fact they had nothing nice to say to him. The cork came undone and splashed his fist but he hardly cared for a few drops. He gulped what was left and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The chattering was coming closer and he could understand the individual words now. _'Weak.' 'Talentless.' 'Pathetic.' _

'Why isn't it _working?_' He screamed as sweat beaded his forehead with the force of pushing back the tide of despair and terror. Jonathan was laughing. He was almost doubled over in laughter and was taking enjoyment out of seeing his friend so frustrated. 'What have you done Jon?' He rasped against the fear paralysing his throat.

'It doesn't work Edward, because you've acquired an obsolete formula.'

_What?_

Scarecrow pushed him back and he toppled onto the dusty floorboards. The rogue loomed over him like a demented spectre. 'I find it remarkable that you don't know this Riddler, but I change my formula every time that flying menace concocts an antidote,' He growled.

Oh no. Oh god no.

He leaned down until they were virtually nose to nose. 'Don't ever let me catch you with one of these again, Edward.'

He pulled back and made for the door as the first peal of screams erupted from Edward's throat and all three hallucinations descended upon him.

* * *

><p><em>Yep, Creepy Crane is on my list of respect. He freaks Nigma out at points and no wonder if this is what happens. That toxin of his is evil but Edward did learn an important lesson, two actually. 1) be wary of food randomly appearing and 2) don't let Scarecrow know you may be in possession of an antidote.<em>

_PS: Please don't tell him I call him Creepy Crane behind his back – I like living. _

A/N: Wow, um. What can I say? It's one of those days. I promise humour and I deliver a bucket-load of drama. Poor Eddie, even he isn't immune from Scarecrow's wrath. Here's another sterling example of _friendship_. Carry on with your day.


	26. Rule 26

**#26 Jester is always armed.**

Jester was an idiot. To even think she could beat him here was ridiculous! He was Edward Nigma after all, the Riddler. He couldn't help but smirk down at her as she stood with the very small, equally stupid members of her laughable gang – the only morons dumb enough to let the midget clown order them around – And pondered her predicament. Caught in a Riddler trap. No escape, not without using their brains. A deep frown had settled itself on her brow, apparently deep in thought. He couldn't resist a jab, despite her age and occupation. "You appear to be busy. I shall not interrupt y-"

"Shut up Eddie! I'm thinking!" Jester snapped.

Edward frowned but quickly settled back into his trademark smirk. "Does it hurt?" he teased. Her eyes roamed around the room looking for an advantage, trying to find a way out. The morons professing to follow her were staring at him, no doubt dumbfounded at the ease in which they'd been tricked into the riddle-room.

He delightedly watched Jester grind her teeth together to stop the angry comment from leaving her lips. She looked to her gang, no doubt for assistance or ideas, not that they were capable of rubbing more than two brain cells together. They proved him correct as they stared back at her with blank expressions on their faces. They were strong sure, but they were the most stupid thugs Edward had ever the pleasure of meeting and it seemed Jester agreed. "Absolutely useless," she muttered.

Edward smirked and leaned down looking over the railing. Of course he had already figured out ten ways of escaping and - no offense to Jester - she was not the brightest crayon in the box. There was little in the way of formal education but she was street-smart, hardly ignorant of the way the world worked. If she wasn't, then Edward wouldn't have bothered interacting with her, though considering their current situation he doubted they would be discussing anything ever again. "Come, come now little J, I have very little time today. I've already figured out hundreds of ways out of your predicament," He boasted.

"Well, bully for you!" Jester grumbled. "I'm kinda' teamed up with the most stupid thugs on the planet, so yeah. Can you see how hard this is for me?" So she was aware of the fatalistic flaw of her friends. Pity, he would have almost enjoyed the downfall that would have come with relying on them.

Edward tapped his chin in mock thought. "I'd say, very difficult. It doesn't really help, being an idiot. Not a complete idiot, but an idiot nonetheless." He swung his cane idly and began to casually walk towards the exit that was only accessible on the platform he was standing on. "Enjoy your time at Arkham little J. Do send Batman and the Doctors my regards, I wish I could come with you I _really _do, but my schedule is full at the moment," he chuckled as he got to the exit.

"Don't bet on it Eddie!" Jester shouted as she landed on the rusted railing of the catwalk he was standing on.

"_What?!_ But how did you-?" Edward was bewildered and usually completely blind to the feelings of anyone but himself, but this time he could see anger etched on every fibre of her black and white being. When Jester gets angry she gets violent too and he was in no mood to deal with a fifth broken nose.

He turned on his heel and ran, there was really nothing else for it. His escape was marred by the voices of Jester's thugs begging her to help them out, Jester simply replied "Get out yourself, Ya' yellow bellied losers!"

"Oh god damn it!" Edward shouted as he realised just how annoyed Jester really was. She was an unpredictable time-bomb he had – inadvertently – set on himself.

He just had to get her riled up like this didn't he? He was in no way going to let her catch him, he had a reputation to uphold and no little undergraduate street rogue was going to be the end of it. He wouldn't allow it! He'd taken on Batman! Held his own against Penguin, Dent, Black Mask and Shark! They were all grown men who had made hobbies of taking people to pieces; he was _not_ intimidated by an unpredictable, unfathomable miniature Joker!

Sprinting round a corner, the water from the rain splashed up his legs, cold shivers ran up and down his spine as well as making his freshly clean trousers dirty. His glasses had spray from the rain on them, making visibility very difficult and now he was positive that he was lost. "Damnitdamnitdamnit!" he mumbled as he hurtled down an ally to find himself at a dead end. He glared at the wall with utter hate. "Thank you!" he shouted at the sky. "Thank you _so much_!"

Suddenly he saw Jester at the mouth of the alley, her green eyes were shining with anger and hatred and Edward had caused it, oh joy of joys.

"Listen Jester-"

"No you listen Eddie! I may not be the smartest person in the goddamn world but I'm sure as hell not stupid!" she growled, somewhere in that sentence, she'd found he handle of a knife and pulled it. It gleamed in the rain.

"Listen here you little brat! I am the only one with any real intelligence! You are nothing but a lowlife street thug with a damn all-in-one bleach job! If that never happened then you would be nothing!" Why the hell was he annoying her even further? It didn't make any logical sense. It was his ego again, refusing to stop making situations worse.

Jester screamed in anger and launched herself at him, her knife flying through the air, he had the forethought to raise the cane and the metal bounced off, it clattered to the ground somewhere just behind him. He glared at Jester and swung the recently battered cane out at her, determined to give her a piece of his mind. He got lucky and struck Jester on her legs hard enough for her to buckle and land with a crack against the concrete floor.

Edward took this as his time to leave. He skirted around her and ran out of the alley. What he needed was to get to one of his hideouts, the place where he was in control and Jester couldn't touch him. After what felt like forever sprinting through the dirty and wet streets of Gotham with her never far from his tail, he finally managed to make it to his hideout. He should have never taken car transport for granted, _never_. He wouldn't have time to unlock it, he knew, and he hated using brute strength but sometimes even he was open to it and in this moment, heart pounding lungs about giving in on him, legs burning with pain, and the almost unknown but heady ingredient testosterone, he was going to risk looking like an idiot just to get inside and collapse on the floor.

He had never run this fast, not even from Batman but that was probably because Batman wouldn't kill him with his own pen, whereas Jester would and now she was angry, she would probably do it slowly too. That thought made Edward's feet quicken with the last bit of energy he had and he crashed through the door to his hideout, landing with clatter on the floor and breathing heavily as he rested and felt the rain cool his face. But he couldn't stay there forever; jester hadn't been far behind him, despite his long legs. She had an intimate knowledge of the city that would rival Ratcatcher's.

With his foot he kicked the door closed and slowly dragged himself to his feet. He tumbled into his chair with a sigh he closed his eyes, caught his breath and let his aching legs rest. God he was pathetically out of shape these days. He knew he would one day regret being allergic to exercise.

"Err boss?"

Oh god, not now! What did those idiots want this time? He knew he shouldn't have hired the biggest, stupidest but most amicable thugs in the entire city. "What is it Mannie?" he snapped with as much annoyance as he could muster at the moment.

"Err, Jester's here."

Edward's eyes snapped open and he jumped up. Adrenaline had already kicked in, ready to help his brain decide if it was going to fight or flight and generally, it was flight that won. You would be lucky if you saw him go from a standing start to flat out run. Mannie and Zowie stood in the room, each had Jester by an arm as she struggled against them screaming blue fury at Edward.

How had he not heard the screaming? He was pretty sure everyone in _Arkham_ could probably hear it. "Jester. How nice of you to grace us with your presence," Edward chuckled when he saw that the kid had no ability to move thanks to the living clamps around her arms.

"We took her things off her boss. All of her weapons and stuff," said Zowie as he threw various metallic and dangerous looking objects onto a table at the back, far away from Jester's reach. Maybe there was a smidgeon of self-preservation in there after all. Edward's ego, ever on the lookout for opportunity, flashed to the foreground and despite being tired, he smirked and began to taunt her. "How _stupid_ must you be? To even consider you could break into my hideout and not be found?"

Jester glared at him and struggled even more, she kicked her legs out at him to at least attempt to smack his shin in the vain hope he wouldn't be walking for a while without a limp or – if she could reach – kick him right in 'crown jewels'. She was fuming and Edward was going to get it. Not that he for a moment considered that he would. "So, my dull little crayon, what are you going to do now? You have no men and no weapons, you're stuck," Edward laughed.

Jester's eyes turned to slits and she made fists with her hands and swung them back, to hit Mannie and Zowie in between their legs, both thugs yelped in pain and fell to the floor, crying out in pain. As his hand found his beloved cane.

Jester raised and eyebrow at him and held up her finger as pause before leaning back, she stretched a little, bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling in thought before she eventually produced a billy club, with a triumphant smirk. Edward was dumbfounded. "How the hell did you sneak that in here?!"

"Oh you really don't want to know," she chuckled; the club drummed a beat on the palm of her hand as she watched his jerky movement. "Now Eddie. Let's see how _blunt_ I can make that impressive mind of yours? But before we start a fight, do you want a cup of tea?"

Edward blinked a little. That wasn't what he'd expected, not even from an unpredictable clown. "Oh… err okay…"

'Do you take sugar?' Her tone was verging on syrupy.

'Yes,' He acknowledged.

"How many lumps do you want?" She asked. She was still swinging that club in a very offensive, premeditated way.

Edward blinked again. Now he was confused. "Umm… two or three."

Jester grinned. "Two or three lumps coming up!" she shouted and smacked the club down on his head. He was pretty sure the word stunned had never been so apt. He still, however, managed to stumble back and run despite the fact she was more than capable of chasing him. "Oh come on Ed' I want to show you slapstick!" she shouted and smacked him again, his legs buckled and he ended up on the floor.

Stupidly, Edward tried to get up before she swung for him again but only succeeded in getting smacked in the ribs. "There. Your three lumps. I hope you've learned Ya' lesson, see Ya'!" Jester waved as she skipped out of the hideout.

Edward wheezed, which was about all he was capable of doing. Oh he had learnt his lesson. Jester was always armed.

* * *

><p><em>HA- Excuse me, I can't, I can't breathe I just – Seriously? He was beaten up by a kid? HAHAHA- No wonder he was in such a filthy mood when I got back. I need – really need – that security footage. It's going to keep me warm on <em>_**so many**__ bad nights. For someone so smart, he's so stupid! …Don't tell him I said that._

A/N: Another wonderful episode of 'Why my life sucks' featuring Edward Nigma brought to you by **Bat-teen28**! Review, show her some love!

Jester is Bat-teen's OC, and you'll see her again in the next chapter, though in a far less _violent_ capacity. At least, I hope so.

Now, there's still one or two guest chapters in the works – Next week's will be a little something written by scribblescribblescribble – but I'll be back with something very soon!


	27. Rule 27

**#27 Don't cheat at the Iceberg.**

Even Riddler's metabolism, used as it was to going for days and days on coffee, Cup O' Noodles, cheese sandwiches and suchlike, occasionally stopped and demanded real food or it would quit working altogether. He preferred to think of his body that simply existed to house his brain, but at times it imposed its will on him, dragging him down into sticky sleep or developing a minor digestive blockage, and this was one of those times.

Given that there were few enough eateries, even in the depths of the now-defunct super-prison, which would willingly serve a Rogue, and disinclined as he was to go out, hunt down a functioning market, do his grocery shopping, and then prepare a meal…he was left with only one real option, the Iceberg Lounge.

Luckily, he was on fairly good terms with Cobblepot at the moment. Jester, his (for lack of a better word,) self-declared sister and Enigma, his daughter were cluttering up his workspace. Being teenagers, they declared themselves starving, and invited themselves along.

"Oooh—black-out flourless chocolate cake, vanilla bean crème brulee, snow cream—what's raspberry coulis, exactly?" Jester asked.

"Just a fancy name for syrup," he replied. "They serve actual food here, by the way. See? Inside the menu, not just on the back."

"Desserts are real," Enigma pointed out. "There's nothing imaginary about Baked Antarctica."

"What are they calling 'Baked Antarctica'?" he asked.

"Ice cream rolled inside a log of chocolate cake with Italian meringue frosting," she replied. "They've got fancy donuts, too. I wonder if Switch knows. The food sure has gotten better here…"

Saying that the food had improved over the dismal prison rations wasn't saying much, but comparing it to the restaurant as it was before the take-over by the city was fair. Calling the fare 'the finest in Antarctic Cuisine' was Penguin's idea of a joke, since there was no native cuisine on that ice-barren continent, just whatever explorers and scientists brought along with them to eat, food chosen more for its keeping qualities than for flavor. But in recent months a new executive chef had taken command and turned dining at the Iceberg into an actual pleasure.

Speaking of whom…"Ruthless!" Jester squealed, jumping up to throw her arms around a woman in a midnight blue dress that was held up by either surgical glue or prayer, because it had no straps and she was built along the lines of Christina Hendricks, only more so.

Ruth Lester, former reading teacher and current lady friend of the Penguin, smiled and returned the hug. "Hiya, sweetie. How are you?"

Edward Nigma often contemplated the mystery that was Jester's charm. With a few exceptions, such as Black Mask and her sister Sorrow, nearly all the Rogues liked her—at least in small doses. Of course, she was just as psychotic, schizoid, and prone to sudden acts of violence as any of them, but for all of that, she still possessed a supernal innocence. He eventually came to the conclusion that the Rogues liked her because she liked them—unconditionally, unreservedly, and eternally, no matter what they had done or would do. Given how intensely unlikeable his so-called peers were, the simple and pure affection of the broken child Jester was inside was a novelty—no, even more—a miracle.

And that charm extended to the Penguin's opulent, ravishing ladyfriend. Falsely imprisoned by Strange in an effort to conceal his ultimate plan to firebomb the place, she had become the blackmarketeer's woman as a way of buying protection. Once Strange fell, literally, she was released and then promptly sued the city, which chose to quietly settle out of court for an undisclosed but substantial sum.

For some reason, a year later she decided to return to the Penguin, apparently of her own free will, and had remained with him ever since, making the horrible little man even smugger than he was already. She had earned the name Ruthless; Edward had filmed her assisting with the dismemberment and disposal of a certain important corpse, and could attest to her unflinching practicality. Rumor had it she was the one who cut off three of Zsasz's fingers with a kitchen chopper, dropped them into a blender, and hit the frappe button. Certainly he was missing them now.

"I'm here to ask a favor from your big brother," Ruth continued, putting an arm around the girl's waist as they strolled back to his table.

"What is it, and what am I offered?" Edward Nigma countered. Faced with Ruthless in an evening gown, it was hard to know where to look—her face, her jewelry, or her chest. All were worth a stare.

"Three strangers came into the Casino an hour and a half ago with one of the girls from the strip club across the way. Two bodyguards and a big, big fish. They're at the blackjack table. It's so hard to tell if someone's counting cards. Could you be a dear, and….?"

"If he's clever enough to keep track, I say let him get away with it." Edward commented.

"But he's being very offensive with it," she said. "Dinner tonight and then two weeks of dinner on the house for Crossword and Jester here, anything they want as long as they order and eat an entrée with all the sides before they have dessert. Neither of you are hummingbirds. You can't live on sugar alone. Type two diabetes is real and it's on the rise even among people your age. No alcohol, which should go without saying, but I'm going to say it anyway."

"Yes, Teacher," Enigma rolled her eyes.

"A month," Riddler bargained.

"Two weeks, lunch and dinner," Ruthless counteroffered.

"Plus Dead Switch as well?" he pushed.

"Switch is a grown woman who can take care of herself."

"Okay," he conceded. It was a small favor, after all, and it meant the girls would get fed without his having to lift a finger for weeks. "Who's the target?"

"Follow me," she crooked a finger, and undulated through the crowd.

The girls followed out of curiosity as Ruthless led them through the inner workings of the Lounge. As they went, Enigma asked, "So, is it true that you cut off Zsasz' fingers and turned them into a smoothie?"

Ruth glanced back and smiled. "No. I gave him a concussion and some second degree burns. You see, he'd gotten into the kitchens and hid in a cabinet, one of the smaller ones. Actually, it was a little too small as it turned out, because his leg fell asleep. So when he leapt out to attack me, he was staggering. I was making caramel in a big heavy iron skillet, and I just turned around and let him have it—cracked him over the head. Caramel splattered everywhere. After we brought him around, Lefty cut off his fingers, and Ozzie had Zsasz watch as he dropped them in the blender."

"Good move with the frying pan," Jester said approvingly. She was fond of frying pans, both as a naturally comedic prop and as both weapon and shield. "A lotta people woulda froze up in fear and gotten dead quick."

"Thank you, sweetie. I would have been scared, but there wasn't time. Anyhow, now Zsasz will have to learn how to do everything left-handed."

They continued on, Ruth pausing in the kitchen to approve a dish along the way, but eventually they wound up in the Eye in the Sky room, where security watched every inch of the big casino room.

"OH! Oh!" Jester exclaimed, on seeing who the possible cheater was. "Do ya know who that is? Do ya, do ya?"

It was, in fact, a movie star. Tall, All-American, blandly handsome B- A-, whose blissful union with his TV star wife and their life with their adorable daughters was regularly featured on magazine covers. The way the stripper was cuddling up to him suggested something else.

"What is he doing in Gotham City?" Enigma wondered.

"I heard he's soaking up local color for a movie where he's gonna play a Batman type hero," Jester offered.

"Shhh," Riddler shushed them, watching the cards… "Yes, he's counting."

"Oh, then in a way this is really doing him a favor," Ruthless smiled. "Helping him really get into the role, as it were. The local color is blood red."

"Ruthie—," Jester screwed up her face. "He's the kind of person who, if he goes missing or turns up dead, it's gonna get noticed. I'm not sayin' don't do it, just that there'll be all kinds of attention. Even if he just gets hurt. Could be fun, though, seein' what happens."

"Don't worry," Ruthless dimpled up in a roguish smile. "I won't hurt him and he won't want to talk about it later. Watch me work." She left the monitor room and a few minutes later appeared on screen approaching the group, a tall, cobalt blue glass of something in one hand.

If allure depended solely on being able to twirl around a pole upside down with no underwear on, Ruth would have been shut out. The stripper was at least ten years younger and seventy-five pounds lighter, but her profession and lifestyle were wearing her out fast. Next to Ruth, she looked tawdry, cheap and tired, like the last hotdog left on the convenience store warmer after hours.

In comparison, Ruth, with her caramel streaked brown hair and creamy skin, looked like an ice-cream sundae—cool, rich, and delicious. In no time at all, she cut the girl out of the conversation, and then out of the group. No sound accompanied the security feed, but anyone halfway observant could tell she was talking about the Iceberg from her hand gestures, and her lips formed the name 'Batman'.

That especially got the actor's attention. Gesturing his bodyguards to stay where they were, he followed Ruthless out of the Lounge proper, into the dilapidated museum.

"Oh, she wouldn't," Jester lit up with glee. "Follow, follow," she smacked the security tech's shoulder. "I don't wanna miss a second of this!" The tech obeyed, switching from camera feed to camera feed as the two passed them by. Oddly, Ruth never sipped from the drink in her hand, which…possibly meant it wasn't a drink. Dark glass, no way of knowing what color the liquid was, if it even was a liquid.

Down the corridor, the sea-scented, whispering corridor, where the wooden parquet flooring gave way to steel grating, and then down a ladder…the safety lights were on, but not the larger house lights. The actor was looking around at the vast aquarium that spread out before him, puzzled.

Then Ruth dumped the contents of her glass into the water. It was red, but not the rich purple red of wine. More like….

Blood.

Simultaneously, she hit the house lights.

Tiny, the museum's Great White Shark, rose up out of the water like a million nightmares inspired by the early work of Stephen Spielberg. Of course, when that happened to Batman, he punched Tiny in the nose. B—A- leapt backward and…it would be kindest to assume the spreading wet stain on his trousers was just some aquarium water splashed there by Tiny.

And that, Riddler reflected, was why you didn't cheat at the Iceberg. Not if you had two brain cells to rub together, anyway.

* * *

><p><em>They serve donuts now? Why didn't I hear about this before? Ludicrous! Anyway, yes. You really shouldn't cheat at the Iceberg. Oswald takes your kneecaps and fingers but Ruth…Well you just had a demonstration. Who do <em>_**you**__ think is worse?_

A/N: This chapter was specially written by **scribblescribblescribble**. Please do check her works out, **Museum Studies** and **Bad Decisions** she's brilliant and I'm eternally grateful to her for lending her time for this. I'm sure the fact that Ben Affleck matching the missing letters of a certain movie star's name is totally accidental ;)


	28. Rule 28

**#28 Always carry a weapon.**

Occasionally, The Riddler liked to walk around the town and see what was new. The nice thing about wearing a conspicuous suit like Edward's was that when he took it off, he was almost unrecognisable. One of the few perks of being, well, _him_ was that his features were by and large forgettable in the barest sense of the word. It wasn't that he was plain, not in the least. He'd been told often how good he looked with his high, angular cheekbones and distinguished jawline. But without the suit, people overlooked them. Overlooked a lot. Unless he wanted to be recognised, he generally wasn't and only the most astute and observant of Gothamites seemed to realise the danger they were in.

It was both a blessing and a curse to him. When avoiding the cops and Batman, it was a godsend. When it came to bullying the denizens of Gotham without the suit, a nightmare. For some bizarre reason, they all seemed to think he was a comedian and was impersonating a rogue for _fun_. The last imbecile he'd found doing that had been swiftly dealt with in an alley not too far from the Iceberg and there were worse things that Scarecrow and Joker would do to a fool who thought it a lark to impersonate them.

Vaguely, he wondered what purpose impersonating a rogue would do. Certainly being a rogue had never done Edward any huge favours, especially lately. The last time he'd escaped, he'd run into Joker. Not an uncommon occurrence for someone with the same arms dealer but Joker had clapped him on the back, hard as they parted. It took Edward two blocks and a chase by a patrol officer to realise that demented grinning menace had reverted to eighth grade tactics and stuck a sign to his back. _Hello: I'm the Riddler!_

Bastard.

One of these days, Batman was finally going to finish it and Edward certainly wouldn't mourn that asshole's passing. He'd organise a party for it. He'd personally foot the bill too.

Once again, things had come full circle. He'd tried his luck killing the winged menace himself, failed, been incarcerated, spent a few month at the mercy of inept doctors, escaped and was now once again free to roam Gotham city as he waited for inspiration to strike.

Perhaps a cup of coffee would improve his creative thought processes.

The coffee shop of his choice was one of the many perennial Starbucks that somehow appeared overnight but they did do a triple shot espresso and Edward was more than ready to meet that.

He debated the line skip but it would just be a nightmare to sort out. Especially without his beloved suit or a gun, people were so prone to fighting back when it was just one of you. They tried their chances. He waited patiently in queue for his turn and was just ordering a blueberry muffin to go with his coffee when the doors burst open to admit three balaclava wearing, gun toting maniacs.

'Everybody freeze!' The shortest one fired a round into the ceiling. 'This is a stick up!'

A stick- _Really?_ What kind of amateurs were these people? Wasting rounds in the ceiling, referring to the operation as a stick up and kicking open doors like it had suddenly become the Wild West.

'Everybody better get their asses on the floor!'

He wasn't about to be told what to do by a bottom-feeder of the criminal world. As the patrons and staff nervously did as they were told, Edward remained standing.

'Did you hear me playboy? On the floor! Now!' A handgun was jabbed toward him, which hardly put him in a civil mood.

_That little cretin still has the safety on his weapon. What a complete and utter tit!_

His hand slowly reached around the counter for his boiling hot cup of coffee. 'Forgive me if I don't gentlemen. The Riddler doesn't bow down to theatrics.'

'Th- The Riddler?' It was hardly the usual reaction. He'd heard fear and he'd heard anger and even sudden realisation but never laughter at his name. 'Hey boys, we got the Riddler in here!' He chuckled. 'Well, _Mister Riddler,_I don't care if you claim to be Miley Cyrus man, get on the fucking floor!'

He sighed. Of course, they wouldn't know him from Adam without the damn suit. _Neanderthals, he was surrounded by incompetent, bull headed Neanderthals._

The steaming coffee was flung in his aggressor's face. He reared back and screamed as the liquid was soaked by the balaclava and burned his eyes. Edward spun him around and one arm locked around his throat, the other took control, disengaged the safety on the gun and fired at his friends.

One went down without a problem but his colleague had managed to get out of the door. Edward wrenched the gun from the future Darwin award winner's grasp and stepped over the prone bleeding body of his friend. The last gunman was making for what looked like the getaway car. Their driver looked alarmed to see his splattered colleague who had only just tried to raid the Starbucks, hot-footing it back towards the car.

Edward raised the gun and took aim. Reflexively, he relaxed into a shooter's stance. His centre of gravity shifted to his back foot, his breathing became slow and deliberate. It was automatic, it was like blinking. Account for wind and civilian intrusion; plot his probable course and speed-

The terrified gunner had just reached the car and was tugging uselessly at the door when a bullet splattered his brains across the driver's door. The body began to slump and smear it's own blood down the window as the driver panicked, put his foot down and tyres screeched.

Edward watched the car floor it into the distance and smirked down at the gun. Headshot at 900 yards. Not a bad shot but hardly challenging. Was he starting to get _rusty?_

A scream from inside the Starbucks reminded him he still had an impudent thug to deal with.

Back inside, it seemed the last assailant standing had finally overcome his coffee assault and torn his rapidly cooling balaclava from his face. It held the kind of shine that indicated first degree burns at the very least and was beginning to blister. In short, he'd gone from merely barnyard ugly to grotesque in minutes. He'd taken his dead colleague's gun and was holding the barista hostage. 'I want the money! Where the fuck is the money?!'

He turned his gun on Edward as the squeak of the door alerted him to his presence. 'You! Who the fuck're you? Are you a cop?'

Now that Edward was paying attention…Yes. Pupils dilated, jittery, shaking hands…drug enthusiast. God, Joker was right. The city definitely benefitted from them. The rogues were a better class of criminal. They didn't rob local Starbucks for money to go get high. 'I used to be. For a time.' He conceded. 'Until I decided there were better prospects.'

It took him a good minute to work out what Edward was talking about. 'Man, you still playing that rogue thing? I know you're not The Riddler!'

'Why not?'

'Well, The Riddler has this suit-'

'If I always wore it, it would get pretty damn filthy, wouldn't it?'

'He has this cane...' The thug went on.

'I don't actually need the cane,' Edward admitted. 'It's just classy.'

'And…and he talks in riddles…' The thug was beginning to shake as the possibility that this really was the Riddler he was fucking with presented itself.

'_What runs around a city but never moves?_' Edward rattled off with hardly a thought. It dawned on him. Finally. Edward had grown rather sick of playing this game now. 'Answer the riddle.'

'I…I don't…know…' He was wilting in horror.

'It has to be said, that's the easiest in my repertoire.' The cluck-heads of this damn city. He was practically doing the establishment a favour here.

'M-mister Riddler…'

'Oh, shut up.'

The barista screamed and dived to one side as Edward shot the last idiot thug in the head. He approached the bleeding, twitching body and his nose wrinkled.

He'd shot him in the eye. At less than 50 yards. Even with the hostage it was unforgivably pathetic. He definitely needed more practice.

And he definitely needed to start carrying weapons with him more often. This city was going to the dogs.

'The answer was-'

'_A wall_.' A familiar gravelly voice cut in from behind him.

Batman? Out in the daylight?

This wasn't his damn day. All he wanted was coffee, was that so wrong?

* * *

><p><em>It's a rare thing for that flying git to be out in the daytime. Edward was just unlucky. Lets just say Batman isn't as stupid as Mr. Twitch and his three druggy friends. Didn't go for a caffeine hit. <em>

…

_I suddenly feel dirty. _

A/N: I made The Riddler a badass. I'm not sure if I should be proud or horrified of my Frankenstein's Nigma. Poor boy deserves it though. The last time he was close to this had to be Rule 12? Really? Well, now I feel kind of bad but not bad enough to give him two wins off the belt.

Also: You may recognise the digression on suits at the beginning from Terry Pratchett's Going Postal, one of the best anti-hero books of all time. If you know it or of it, have an internet cookie. If you don't: Go. And. Read. It. I promise you'll laugh. If you can't read the book, watch David Jason's movie adaptation. It's not as good but tries so hard.

PS: Please do review and tell me what you think of this one. It's been a bit of a pain in my rear end. I've shopped it around to a few friends since I feel there's something not quite there. Maybe it's the fact I haven't _actively_ tortured poor Eddums in this, maybe it's the way it's been written (Which I'd take accountability for) Or maybe it's just because I haven't posted my own work in a little while I'm being hypersensitive.


	29. Rule 29

**#29 Do not provoke the Bat.**

Edward glared at the ceiling. How many times had he counted the tiles since he'd been admitted half an hour before? It must've been at least twenty times. At _least_ twenty times, not including those he'd been forced to stop due to the nurses or the doctors distracting him.

He would be stuck in the infirmary for a month. An entire month and all he had to amuse himself were the ceiling tiles. He couldn't even test the intelligience of those bumbling about him; every time he opened his mouth to speak a riddle or ask a question, most of the nurses would skitter away nervously or slip when treating him - which was becoming a nuisance when they were trying to stab at him with needles - and the doctors would pinch their lips into frowns and shake their heads, ignoring him.

He sighed and started counting again.

_One...two...three..._

A month because of Batman.

* * *

><p>"Riddler," Batman's growly voice echoed through the small hideaway.<p>

"Ah, Batman. I see you've finally found us," Riddler smirked into the camera.

"Where is he, Riddler?"

He sighed. "Always wanting to spoil things, Batman. Very well. He's comfortably strapped into one of my-"

"Deathtraps."

Edward restrained the desire to snarl at him. He hated being cut off. "Find him, Batman. If you can." He clicked the camera off and looked at one of his many computer screens, watching comfortably from the confines of his hidden office while Batman worked his way through his traps.

They were designed perfectly, there was no way the Dark Knight could possibly disable all of them, forget even one-

_**BUZZ**_

He frowned. That was- that noise indicated one of his traps had been disabled. But how? "You're cheating!"

The words bubbled up his throat and out his mouth before he could stop them.

"You must be cheating! Who's helping you?!" He demanded.

Fury bubbled in his veins.

The Dark Knight couldn't possibly be smart enough to disable his traps! He was a brute, he was muscle and gadgets, he was not smart!

_**BUZZ**_

Another one of his traps. Another- how was this happening, how could this possibly be happening?

He slumped back in his chair. "You're cheating. You have to be."

All of those traps had been handpicked by himself, designed by himself, all others scrapped because these- these were his absolute best and Batman was running through them like a cowled bowling ball going through pins.

_**BUZZ**_

He could do no more than sit back and wait as the traps automatically intensified in difficulty. Eventually all but the last, the one where his precious bird was being housed, were disabled and left in a shambles. "One wrong move, Batman," Edward grit out angrily. "One wrong move and the bird is dead!"

He had half a mind to trip the trap remotely, but-

Well, it was actually a good idea.

Both Batman and his little Robin dead, defeated by his hands, shown for the world as the idiots they are. He flicked the switch and smirked widely.

_**BUZZ**_

"_WHAT?!_" Edward roared.

But he'd just-

_**CRASH**_

_**THUNK-**_

Crunch. The quiet sound of boots crunching over glass.

"Nigma!"

Batman. Batman had found him. He was being beaten to a bloody pulp by _Batman_.

_**CRUNCH**_

_**THUNK**_

_**CRASH**_

Eventually, the beating let up and he was left, lying like a ragdoll at Batman and Robin's feet.

* * *

><p>He'd been transported back to Arkham quickly for treatment, but his bruised ego would have to heal on it's own.<p>

How had Batman disabled his traps? How? Dumb luck? No, no, that wasn't it. There was no such thing as luck for the Dark Knight. Sheer determination? He'd heard that parents had found themselves to do incredible things once their child was put under threat. Perhaps the threat of losing his Robin had jolted his last two remaining braincells into multiplying.

No matter.

Whatever it had been, his aching bones and flesh were proof of the one thing Batman was capable of; a beating that you could never forget. Perhaps it would be best if he refrained from provoking Batman, at least for now.

Or forever.

His nose was never going to heal quite right, thanks to Batman's fists.

If this was the beating he received for putting his bird in danger, he would have hated to see Joker after the...incident that may or may not have involved Batman's sidekick. Certainly he was still there, but there was debate over whether or not it was the _same_ boy blunder it had been. Joker cackled to anyone who'd listen that it wasn't, but Joker also considered himself the king of clams...Or was it yams? He did so like to talk and Edward would do anything to tune him out.

Ow. His nose hurt.

* * *

><p><em>Wow he made a mess of him, didn't he? Makes me pleased I was already in a cell at that point. There was a misunderstanding involving toll booths…Don't look at me like that. Cashiers annoy me and he was rude. Deserved the bullet. Happily, my incarceration meant I was not under suspicion of helping him cheat his way to that annoying birdy-boy of his. <em>

A/N: Another fabjuous Rule penned by our own **L.D. Eddy.** I may be regretting my mistreatment of Edward but my guest authors sure aren't! Poor Eddums. I'll endeavour to be nicer to him in future chapters, if only to avoid being outright shot when he catches up to me. Why is it always his nose, I wonder? It's a running joke in this series!

PS: 7,000 + views! You guys continue to impress me! Thank you! Maybe if I hit 10,000 before I finish this series i'll do one last mean thing to our beloved Riddler.


	30. Rule 30

**#30 – Surveillance.**

Stints in the asylum were usually repetitive and dull. Get pummelled by Batman, dragged into Arkham, be assessed by a menial task-monkey, see your frankly below-average psychologist and then be re-integrated into the system. The routine was like clockwork and it was almost guaranteed that for two hours, twice a week, an inmate would be given recreational time which, presumably, would be your time to mingle and do what you wanted to do.

In reality the inmates were watched for any kind of relapse behaviour. It was a rather poor attempt at entrapment that Edward had seen through within the first fifteen minutes he'd been subjected to it.

Normally, recreation wasn't too bad, provided you kept away from the Clowns' Tv, avoided the more psychotic inmates – Zsasz on temporary release from solitary - and sidestepped an ever hopeful Jervis Tetch. It gave you a break from staring at all four walls and taunting your psychologist but there were some variables that would turn it into a new kind of hell.

When Edward was young and still attending school, what he hated more than anything else was indoor recess. When the deluge of rain or snow was so bad that even the incompetents that were legally responsible for his classmates noted the health and safety breaches outside, they would herd their charges into the cafeteria for rainy day games.

It was a special kind of torture. On the playground, Edward could purposefully evade people like Drew Pennyright. Pennyright had been one of the many bullies of the school and one of Edward's most loathed. While he was adept at avoiding him in the playground, in the cafeteria it was a lot harder and that was but one of a list of problems indoor activities posed. In those kinds of circumstances, one tends to loathe them.

The weather report this morning promised monsoons if you believed the imbecile manning the weather station, it was hardly a surprise when Jonathan spotted him walking into the recreation room and immediately jumped on him.

'You have to get rid of it, I don't know how, or why just for the love of god get rid of it!'

'Get rid of what?'

'That damn Wizard of Oz DVD!'

He'd snorted. Really? Of all the things that got under Jonathan's nose- 'You have a problem helping Dorothy to Kansas, Jon?' The filthy look he'd gotten in reply had been just _delightful_.

'Aside from the fact that Joker and Harley loudly sing along to the songs as often as possible and have been known to act out the scenes themselves?'

He'd forgotten about those particular gems. They also shrieked with laughter whenever they saw a flying monkey. It was hell.

'I could,' He'd mused 'But where would be the fun in just disposing of it?' An idea was creeping up on him, something devious and guaranteed to be in Jon's taste.

'Go on.' Jonathan's begrudging curiosity got the better of him.

'What if we simply swapped the content?'

'With what?' Crane frowned.

'I am so glad you asked me that.' Edward's grin was smug. 'I have the perfect thing,'

Persuading Joker to cause a distraction was far easier than it should have been, but that was Joker's wont. Unpredictability. No-one noticed them slip from the room.

Breaking through the copyright encryptions took the easiest five minutes of his life. 'Hurry up Nigma, you prig!' Or, it would be if Jonathan gave him any time at all to work with. With a vindictive smirk he replaced the entire thing with some less than family friendly content and was just replacing the disk into it's case when-

'Get out of there!'

Edward dodged out of the office and noted that Jonathan had already gone to ground. Typical rogue behaviour but at least he'd had the courtesy to give him a warning first. He managed to get out of sight just as Cash came around the corner.

Now all they had to do was wait.

It didn't take long. The matron in charge of the recreation room was a snarling dragon of a woman with a somewhat soft centre for sappy movies. Rain had just started lashing against the windows and storm clouds had turned the skyline of Gotham into one giant bruise. It seemed almost positive that – yes! She was bringing out the hated DVD.

The unfortunates they were sharing this delightful timeslot with were herded into lines of differing height as the offending article of Scarecrow's taste was brandished. There were cheers from the two oddball clowns as the lights dimmed.

Unwittingly, a chuckle rode up his throat but he clamped down on it before it could escape. Oh this was going to be _fun_.

The familiar and hated strains of 'Over the rainbow' began and Jonathan leaned over. 'I thought you said you'd changed it!' He hissed.

'Wait.' He reassured him. Was Boles in here? He hoped so. He hoped Cash was watching too, but Edward was absolutely sure that even if he wasn't physically present, he would hear about this.

The movie cut out abruptly and switched to grainy CCTV images of some seemingly random storage room in Arkham.

'_Oh Frankie! Is this where they house all the freaks?'_

'_Oh yeah baby, I'm head of security, now how's about we find a store-room somewhere and-'_

The room erupted into uproarious laughter, although most seemed to come from the trio near the front. Walker, Lynns and Lawton were in absolute stitches over it. From what he could see, Walker was the only one keeping Lawton and Lynns from hitting the floor.

'Oh god, oh Christ my stomach!'

'I can't _breathe_, this is too funny!'

'_Mmm, you're the big cheese huh?'_

'Really, Edward?' Jonathan sighed as the staff attempted to gain control of the near chaos.

He allowed himself a laugh and leaned back as a riot began, mainly to stop the horrified Frank Boles and company getting to the DVD player. 'I don't know what else you expected Jonathan.'

'Maturity.' He muttered.

As Lynns and Lawton finally sank to the ground, convulsing in hysterical laughter, much to Walker's horror and Boles screamed above the din for someone to turn the hacked disc off, Edward closed his eyes. 'Why on_ earth _would you think that?' He snorted with a smile.

Surveillance. What a wonderful invention.

* * *

><p><em>And there was never another movie marathon permitted, thank God. It should be illegal to herd children or adults into a dark room, force them to sit in rows with people they loathe and then sit through an hour and a half – If your lucky – of mind rotting drivel.<em>

A/N: Lights! Camera! Riot! …What? What else did you expect from something labelled Surveillance? I'm weak and Boles is a good target. You guys remember Rule #10 where they're profiling Frank before moving on to bigger fish? Well not only does he use the internet for casual sex; he uses Arkham to hook up. Nothing like lunatic asylum booty to get the blood pumping, right? Poor Frank, he's going to be in _so_ much trouble!

Wow do I feel scummy. Or proud. I've personally written a grand total of 4 chapters from chapter 20 to chapter 30. Every other one has had a sterling guest writer. *scratches head* there's something about the middle that has the best rules.

Wow we hit 30 faves! I'm impressed. For a whole weekend I had more faves than I did chapters which was actually really nice! Guess at this point I should drag Edward out to thank you all but when I asked the reply was unrepeatable and _very_ graphic. Think I caught him at a bad time.

Still! Thanks everyone!


	31. Rule 31

**#31 Female Psychopaths are dangerous.**

Attraction. They say you can't help who you fall in love with any more than you can influence your eye or hair colour. It's genetically encoded into you. One has to wonder what kind of mutation resulted in Harley Quinn's attraction to the Joker.

Lets face it, here. The Joker was a pasty faced, green skinned walking encyclopaedia of mental illness. He was proud of the fact he'd almost got the whole set, from A to Z. And Harleen Quinzel, a woman who could have modelled to pay her way through university had fallen in love with him and gone mad.

Why did Joker get all the luck?

Though he wasn't lucky this time. He was still in solitary listening to Zsasz obsess over his kills. Edward shouldn't sound so gleeful about that, but he had therapy with the deranged clown and his equally brain-dead girlfriend and if he had to listen to yet another fictitious account of 'Wanna know how I got these scars?' He would risk solitary to shut that crimson-lipped bastard up.

So, here he was, shackled into a chair with the unfortunates of this time slot – Crane, White, Quinn and Dent since Joker was absent – Listening to Harley bawl her sodden eyes out.

Maybe this was worse than Joker actually being here. At least she wasn't wailing when he was around and the thinly veiled innuendo was almost worth putting up with.

Where the hell was the psychologist meant to be lading this abhorrent session?

'Mistah J didn't do anything wrong! He was just trying to get Sharpy to lighten up!'

_Light _up. He was trying to _light him up_. On fire. With a stolen disposable lighter.

'He was only trying to make the warden smile!'

It was an actual attempt on his life. At least, that was how Sharp was portraying it.

'It was a poetic symbol of how laughter can be a candle in the dark!'

Help. Someone. Anyone. He was a bad man, but he didn't deserve this.

'Child,' Jonathan grunted with overtones of annoyance. 'Your …Boyfriend… is not that thoughtful. He just wanted to set the warden on fire.'

'He is too! And he's-' And she was off. How wonderful Joker was, how thoughtful and sweet and kind and not at all the psychopath they knew him to be. It was almost as though someone had turned on a tap and left for a holiday as all sorts of patently untrue things had come dribbling out of her mouth.

Two-Face turned to look their way. 'You had to open your mouth, Crane.'

'I am not going to sit here and listen to how everything that damn madman does is an art-form!' Jonathan hissed back.

How? How could she sit there and defend him? He'd seen what happened when she upset him. Everyone had. She'd spend forever moping and weeping and wailing, pick herself up if she hadn't already gone back and the second, the very second she looked like she could make it without him, he would come back into her life like a flamethrower through Poison Ivy's greenhouses and everything that they'd spent so long cultivating and propping up would be so much ash.

Edward had to wonder just what Joker had done to her during those sessions of theirs. She used to be an intelligent, well respected psychologist and now she was nothing more than the butt of his biggest joke.

Jonathan was not endearing himself to Harley despite the fact they used to know each other. Scarecrow loathed the Joker for reasons unto himself but Edward did know that Jonathan hated to see such a fine mind like Harley's had been utterly destroyed. It was a hypocritical and somewhat flawed sensibility but Jonathan felt the only people who had a right to do that to people were those of intelligence, like Edward, like himself. Not like Joker.

In fact, quite a few years ago, Jonathan had ran a series of experiments on Harley to ascertain the survival of any of her previous personality. Those had all failed. Harley was irreversibly Harley.

He was rather miffed about that.

'Professah, Mistah J's turned over a new leaf!' Harley wailed.

Edward had to wonder if it was in perpetual motion because Joker always trotted out phrases like that when he pushed his luck and Harley always fell for them. It was like she couldn't see past the smiling, giggling man he was to the cackling menace he was underneath. Everyone hated Joker. Everyone but Harley.

'Harleen,-' Jonathan tried.

'Shut your mouth Crane!' Dent snarled. 'You've done enough!'

'I find myself agreeing with Two-Face,' White spoke quietly but everyone listened to Warren. Shark commanded respect to the same tune of Black-Mask. Warren White alias Great White Shark was a kind of Edward and Edward could respect that. Edward's obsession was information and Warren's was the world of percentage and chance. He was also a problem solver, for a price. Occasionally the two overlapped. They were courteous as one can be to someone who patently chose the other path.

'Nevertheless I cannot sit here any longer and listen to the deluded child talk as if the clown was a savant!'

'Hey!' Harley demanded as she turned over the word. 'I may have a soft spot for Puddin' Professah but-'

Crane snorted derisively. 'A soft spot? Child, you have virtually limitless patience for that clown and more often than not, he abuses it. I'm sure we all remember a good many times he's thrown you out into the cold when you've become more burden to him than use.'

There was a murmur of unhappy agreement. Harley seemed on the verge of tears as the session commenced under the guidance of the former Doctor of Psychology. Not surprising that The Scarecrow could bring someone to the verge of tears.

'My puddin'-!'

'Child, your "Puddin'," is using you,' Crane snapped.

'It'll be on your head, Scarecrow.' Dent tried to hold his hands up, but since they were securely shackled to the chair, that didn't work out well.

'Even someone as dense as The Riddler could see that!' Jonathan went on without missing a beat.

What? The jab at him was completely undeserved and just why was he getting dragged into this? _Why?_

'Eddie? Is that true?' Harley sniffled and he inwardly cursed Jonathan.

'Well-' He waffled and Harley completely lost it.

'You're all just jealous of Mistah J!' She howled. Against his better judgement, Edward gave a choked laugh. Him? Jealous of Joker? There weren't enough multiverses in the _cosmos_ that would house a Riddler that was jealous of Joker.

_Click. _

Harley's restraints became undone. She must have been working on them for some time considering the amount of times Joker had complained her lockpicking skills just weren't up to calibre. He always used the same joke too, which consisted of him thinking about getting a bigger gun which then led to inadequacy jokes which generally led him to boasting that he really wasn't threatened.

'Child-' Jonathan warned but even Edward could hear the slight warble in his voice as she stormed across and began beating him around the head before he could get much further.

Shark erupted into a wheezing, grating laugh. Dent smirked and sat back to watch. Edward was forced to start picking his lock. He didn't want to, Jonathan's beating was a deserved one but he had no desire to end up in solitary. Not while Joker was there and the entire session was likely to end up in the cells if they were found fighting.

His own restraints sprang open and he moved to grab Harley when the door opened and Whistler appeared. She took one look at the scene – From Harley struggling to smack Jonathan who was attempting to get away from her fists to Edward who had hold of her Arkham issue jumpsuit.

'_Guards!'_

* * *

><p>They'd all ended up in solitary for mass fighting. As predicted. Edward had to grumble. Why did his therapy sessions always end up with him in solitary? It wasn't even as if they were his fault. Alright, the last session was <em>technically<em> his fault but this one was Jonathan's fault. He'd only been a fair friend and attempted to help him – or at least hold Harley off until Jonathan had opened his own restraints.

From somewhere down the corridor came an echoing conversation.

'Puddin'!'

'Harley?! What the hell are you doing down here?!'

'Eddie and Jonny-'

Don't. Don't Harley. Please don't drag him into this spat…

'-Were talkin' smack aboutcha! So I gave them the old one, two!'

'They were, were they?' Joker's tones were way past sugary sweet.

Edward groaned. Have mercy, Jonathan should have known female psychopaths were dangerous. Just as dangerous as their killer clown boyfriends.

* * *

><p><em>I'm beginning to think the boss does this on purpose, even if he insists he isn't. It's like he's got "Abuse me" written across his forehead <em>in bright neon. I didn't rescue him from this one. Too close to crazy clown town. <em>_

A/N: You guys have no idea how hard it was to finish this and it had nothing to do with writers block. Stitcher's laptop is committing slow suicide in some sort of revenge for the mistreatment it's endured over the years. In short: It's being unreliable as sin and I'm working on a replacement. As a generalized warning I will say that updates that haven't already been pre-prepared may take some time, perhaps until I scrape up some kind of replacement so should the weekly updates stop, take it as my laptop finally crapping out on me.

PS: We broke 8,000 views! Hoorah!


	32. Rule 32

**#32 Mental breakdowns are for the weak**

He'd spent _months_ working on this, perfecting everything! It was perfect! It was inspired! It was bloody difficult to pull off!

Edward paced his control room and snarled as another trophy was picked up. Had he not been good enough? Had it been too easy? He ran a hand through his hair as the rage bubbled up. No. No, he was a genius! He was The Riddler! He couldn't-! He looked up, his glasses flashed against the harsh light of the monitor as a tone alerted him that another trophy had been found and taken. Over two _hundred_ trophies had been scattered throughout Arkham City. Edward would have bet money that Batman would have grown frustrated with collecting them by now, adding the clues and map references together. Edward would always call and confirm just because not everyone was as clever as he would and with each hostage and each trap, he would be supremely confident that this time, this one, Batman would fall to.

He'd lost three hostages already. It was beginning to enrage him. It really was. The amount of energy, money and time he'd put into finding distributors and double-checking they'd placed them where they were meant to be - as opposed to chucking them over the nearest fence - was far, far greater than any scheme previously.

The tone was beginning to annoy him. Everything was annoying him. He had not yet lost but with every trophy he was getting closer to that line. He glanced over the side of the platform and watched idly as the remaining thugs he had not sent out to hide riddles continued working on his little surprise. He would not lose this. He could not lose this, he would win.

The tone again.

Edward's hand went through his hair once again and he clenched his teeth in some attempt to hold into his temper. It would not do for the hired help to see him so angered. It would not do for them to see him lose his shit. Was this his failing? Had he made it too easy on The Dark Knight?

_No, I am perfect. I am a genius. I will not be outwitted this-_

The tone.

He snatched up his cane and with a scream of anger, brought it down on the offending monitor. Once, twice, three times. The screen cracked, sparks flew, the innards spluttered and finally died.

Down below, all had gone quiet as he took a step back and ran his fingers through his already messy hair. The only sound was that of the tinkling glass as it trickled from the assaulted technology.

He felt better. Marginally.

He glanced down to see many of the faces turned to look up at him, each featured a look of dumbed surprise. 'What are you all _looking_ at?' He snarled. 'Get back to work before I decide the lot of you would be better suited to testing Batman's death-traps!'

He went back to watching the hacked CCTV and felt slightly mollified by the sounds down below hurriedly started up again. He would not have a breakdown over this, not after the last time. He was better than that.

Besides, Batman could still _lose_.

* * *

><p><em>And I had to fetch him a new one. Nice to know why the workforce was freaking out. Do you know how hard it is to find a working piece of technology in Arkham City? The super-prison's filled with the kind of brute that would utilize it to smash someone over the head WWE style. In the end, I stole one from Dent. Heh. <em>

A/N: So _apparently,_ there's this rumour going around the internet - and I'm sure you can find it if you look hard enough - That in Arkham Knight, the more trophies you find, riddles you solve and death-traps you avoid uh, dying in, Eddie gets upset and starts shedding articles of clothing. I don't know about you folks but it seems to me the fandom gods have been at it again. I spent half an hour silently laughing myself to death at the possibility. Not in a bad way you understand, I just kind of wish I'd come up with it first because it's absolutely something I would do. If it's true I'm definitely going to enjoy collecting trophies, just to see what he takes off next!


	33. Rule 33

**#33 Cobblepot is not to be trifled with.**

"Two trucks!", Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot roared, and his umbrella lashed out to deliver a resounding wet 'Thwack' against the bound thug's shins. His pants legs were already shredded and bloodstained. "Two of my trucks, and you had to go and park them in the same bloody garage!"

Thwack!

"Hello, Riddler," the Penguin paused to give Edward a dirty look. "Just you wait, I'll get to you in a moment." Edward had no idea why he was there, but as he was currently being held up off the ground by two of the man's biggest goons, the waiting was a certainty. However, he knew better than to point that out. "Two trucks, one full of loot from the Redburn estate, the other full of prime quality fish and seafood. Monet, Renoir, Picassos in the one. Swordfish, salmon, pike, shrimp, and lobster in the other. In the same damn garage!"

Thwack!

"Riddle me this!" the rotund and tuxedoed little man said with loathing. "What do both fish and houseguests do in three days?" He lashed out again, and the thug's body jerked. Not waiting for an answer, he went on. "They stink!"

Uh-oh. Now he had an inkling.

Thwack!

"This idiot put the fish truck in the same garage as the art truck. Then he walks away without making sure the refrigeration is on."

Thwack!

"It's bloody August out there," the Penguin continued, spittle spreading out from his mouth in a light mist. "Gotham's having a heatwave. A whole week of hundred degree temperatures. Three days later you could smell that truck a mile away. No, two miles. Five!"

Thwack!

"The stink is so bad people call the police about it."

Thwack!

"The pigs come by, and do you know what happens? Do ya? No, of course you don't. Of the two trucks, the one that has the art and the other which is loaded with tons of rotting fish, against all odds, against all reason or sense, the first one they crack open is the one full of Impressionists!"

Thwack!

"Because this idiot didn't think to check the refrigeration in the back of the truck!"

Thwack!

"Now I don't have my art and I don't have my fish and I am not happy!"

Thwack—but then the Penguin moved around the chair in which the bound man sat—on a big square of plastic sheeting, the better to clean up afterwards. He pressed the ferrule of his umbrella into the base of the man's skull, thumbed a button. There was a click, but the umbrella did not open. Instead the man's body jerked, he made a sigh, and then he toppled over off the chair.

"Get that out of here," Cobblepot commanded to another pair of goons, who wrapped the body up in the –uh-oh—topmost layer of plastic sheeting. "But you see, he wasn't alone in the cab of that there truck. No. Somebody asked me for a trifling little favor. A lift in one of my trucks, that was all he wanted. And that somebody—." Penguin began circling Edward and his handlers.

"That somebody was a delicate little flower, and it was too cold in the cab of that truck for him. So he goes looking for the thermostat, and he finds one. He turns the bloody thing off, he does. Funny thing, though, it doesn't get any warmer in the cab of the truck—because that was the control for the temperature in the back!"

He poked the Riddler in the chest with the ferrule, which was now rusty with blood. "And that delicate little flower was you!"

"Uh—I'll be happy to compensate you—."

"Compensate me how? There were pieces of art in there I wanted to keep! Oh, but where are my manners? Keeping you hanging about like this. Show him to his seat, lads—and bring in the other thing."

Edward flailed as the goons dropped him unceremoniously into the recently vacated seat, which was still warm with blood, he noticed. With rapid efficiency they bound his arms behind him.

"Wait—," he protested, but what was this? The Penguin stepped back, a lurid grin stretched over his face. Then the goons brought in the other thing.

It was a bushel basket full of rotten fish.

He never thought he'd pray for sweet merciful death rather than take a breath of air…

"Oh, don't worry, Eddie boy. I'm not going to kill ya. It just seems to me you've been looking a bit thin and peaked lately. We've got to feed you up some. They say fish is brain food, you know." Cobblepot's chuckle sounded just like a drain unclogging.

(The End.)

* * *

><p><em>He made an impressive puke stain, just so you all know. I'm sure he made it his mission to be sick on me every time he retched after he caught me laughing <em>_at him. That wasn't so fun. He spent another week hissing that Cobblepot had given him some form of roundworm and made us disinfect the entire hideout. Germaphobe. This also happens to be one of the reasons he doesn't participate in field-work so much anymore. He usually leaves that sort of thing to me. It's easier to avoid being fed your weight in rotten fish when you're not personally responsible._

**A/N:** The lovely **scribblescribblescribble** penned this one and I must say, she's a master of her craft because no-one can do Oswald Cobblepot like Scrib. Do check her out, her stuff is way better than mine. Guaranteed. Thank you very much Scrib!

At _some_ point, I'll also remember to thank and welcome my new watchers/favers/commenters as well as those old hats who've been with me longer. I absolutely appreciate every review and favourite!

So long and thanks for all the fish!


	34. Rule 34

**#34 Kill only when necessary.**

It started, as it always did, with a prayer. Fifteen year old Edward Nashton, already beginning to suffer from sight degeneration and going through a growth spurt that left the hems of his trousers several centimetres from his ankles, prayed to a god he was almost sure didn't exist.

_Please, please. Not tonight. Don't let him find fault tonight. _

Mother had been smart and had wisely chosen to vanish around his fifth birthday. One day she was there, the next she was not. He wasn't surprised she'd chosen to leave without a word; not after the bruises, the beatings, the verbal spats, he just wished she'd taken him with her. Now the only target in Nashton senior's sights was his thin, gangly son.

He could hear the TV downstairs and relaxed somewhat. Maybe this time-

'Boy!'

_Of course. _

* * *

><p>Sixteen year old Edward Nashton fiddled with his new glasses. They rubbed the bridge of his nose raw, they were square and thick and he hated wearing them. One day, he would be his own person and would only wear them when he needed them. He would wear contact lenses and the best fashions and that would show the people who laughed at his height and his penchant for riddles. As if he needed more ammunition for the Neanderthal bullies at school; but they were nothing compared to the one at home.<p>

He tried, to be perfect. He tried to be the intelligent, articulate boy his father wanted but the man seemed to believe implicitly that he was a cheater. That he was too dumb to do any of the things he professed to doing. Even his grades – almost but not quite perfect scores – had to have been the result of cheating and that made him only more fervent with the belt, the shoe, _the fist_.

At sixteen, Edward Nashton grew disillusioned with religion and praying for his father to die naturally.

He just wanted him to die.

* * *

><p>At eighteen, Edward Nashton plotted murder. He had considered the applications of what he was about to do with all the precision of a surgeon. Of all the ways he'd examined and all the ideas that had sparked within his magnificent mind, one had stood out. He could have made it look like an accident, could have wired up the electricity to the gas mains and burned the house to the ground, could have hooked it to the taps, the doors, the damn shower even and made it look like a heart attack but that wasn't punishment enough. That wasn't satisfying.<p>

No, he was going to make it look like his father had committed suicide for his final act of vengeance. Nothing else would do for the man who had belittled, beaten and humiliated him on an almost daily basis.

Nothing else would do.

Nashton senior was a big, big man and his son – who took mostly from his mother – was painfully thin. The only things his father had given him were blue eyes and the abhorrent name Nashton. He almost wished he had taken on his mother's eyes. Green as grass.

He could have spiked his beer with tranquilisers, but they would show up on the toxicology screen. If they performed toxicology, if they did an autopsy at all. It all depended on the death-toll and general chaos that came with life in Gotham, but Edward did not want to live life on ifs. It would not be good to have lingering doubts in the minds of police and, although he were sure he could come up with a natural and plausible explanation to the drugs being in his system, Edward did not want to take the chance.

Had he hidden his tracks well? Despite best efforts, he was sure he could have been seen entering the library on the far side of town and reading up about executions and rope. They could test his notebooks and find the paper an exact match, they _could_ tie him to the crime, he just had to give them a better reason not to bother looking.

Ifs again. They would drive him crazy.

The rope was something from one of his father's many part-time jobs. When the booze ran out and Nashton Sr had to go and find work, sometimes he would even force Edward to work to pay for his habit.

Scum.

The calculations were swift and unthinking. Weight times height doubled for length-

The long drop method was the most ideal way of execution to hangmen; it was just _so_ unfortunate that the two storey wreck of a house they lived in wasn't enough. The only viable way it would work, was to fling him out of the window which was messy and unpredictable. Someone would see the deed.

Short drop it was. That had the added bonus of being far longer and more excruciating than the long drop which was designed to snap your neck and let you die quickly. The short drop was nasty for a number of reasons but most noticeably due to the length of time for asphyxia to render you unconscious, followed by death. Until then you'd feel every agonising thing.

He was in front of the TV again, drinking. Watching Wheel of Fortune. Typical. Edward approached from behind the armchair. The shifting colours of the TV were the only light in the room. The harsh florescence made Nashton senior look like a sallow putrid frog. Edward caught his own reflection as the set suddenly darkened for a moment. He looked gaunt and unusually calm, considering what was about to happen. 'The Answer is Steven Segal,' He muttered unthinkingly after a glance at the question.

The pallid face turned to look at him with scorn. 'What do you want you little bastard? Come to tell me more lies? Is it time for a beating already?'

Edward ignored the jab, but he felt somewhat relieved to hear it. It validated all his reasons for doing this and it cemented his resolve.

The old man drained the last of his beer and tossed it at Edward who caught it, clearly he expected the poorly aimed throw. 'Do something useful for once, get me another, boy.'

'No.' He defied bravely. 'Get your own.'

_And the answer is: Steven Segal!_

Nashton senior snarled as he was forced to stand. It didn't take a genius like Edward to see that a beating was in order. Not only had he been correct in answering the question – Hardly a benefit to society – but he'd been defiant and back-chatting. Two of his father's most hated traits. Edward ran.

'Get back here you little bastard!' His father lumbered into a chase behind him.

Just what he wanted.

Nashton Senior skidded out into the hallway and paused when he noted the dust and shavings that had formed neat little piles in the floor. 'What the f-'

The noose dropped over his head and Edward viciously tightened it as the old man's fat fingers struggled with the thick weave.

With sadistic glee, Edward kicked the breezeblock off the stairs and the rope pulled taut through the support beam.

He was delighted that his calculations had been spot on. His father's toes danced centimetres from the security of the floor as he turned pink and then raspberry.

He spun uselessly as he searched for a way to gain some slack in the rope but Edward was not going to give him it. The fat face that had tormented him for all his life turned purple and began sliding into blue. He was making the most appalling noises as Edward studied the transformation.

'Are you satisfied now, father? Have I proved myself to be the brilliant mastermind you always denied?'

'P-pppckkkhhh-'

'P-? Please?' Edward laughed in surprise. 'You're begging me for mercy? You know what you taught me about mercy, _dad?_' His hand shot out and spun him around so he could watch him die. 'Mercy is for the weak. You never showed me an ounce of mercy; I'm simply returning the gesture.'

He began to spasm, the tips of his shoes click-clacked against the grimy tile.

'Oh and did I tell you? I was accepted into the academy you told me would be a waste of time. I'm joining the GCPD old man. See you in hell.'

The spasming finally came to an end.

Give it an hour to make sure there will be no bringing him back.

The old man was dead. Was it necessary? Yes. He would only kill if it were absolutely necessary. At least this way he could get the fresh start he deserved.

* * *

><p><em>I don't agree with killing one's parents but fuck me that's hardcore.<em>

A/N: You know, after writing this, I can't fail to note the obvious similarities between Edward and Jonathan. Abandoned by a mother, left in the care of an abusive guardian, both tall and thin and desperate to get away from their life and believe that bettering themselves will achieve their goals of being somebody. Yes I can see the similarities. There are reasons they're besties!

Anyway, have….Whatever sadistic crap this is. Hoooooly shit my mind goes dark places sometimes. Now I mentioned once or twice in this series and indeed in another fic of mine that Edward killed his father and made it look like suicide. How could he not? An eye for an eye.

Now, anyone who has played Arkham Origins knows that Edward Nashton is the head of the Cyber-Crimes unit. Anyone who had been keeping up with the taunting yet beguiling trailers for _Gotham_ may have seen Eddie at the GCPD riddling about bullets and…Well it plays on your fantasies and this happened. Yep. Maybe you agree, maybe you don't. There's just as much argument for him keeping his father alive to finally admit that Edward is better than him in every way as there is for viciously taking revenge for every beating, every slanderous word and every brush-off of his achievements. I'd just rather hedge my bets on Edward's cold, calculating logic.

PS: 9k views! Woo! You may be wondering why I'm counting. Well, were getting awfully close to 10k with 10 more rules to go. I promised i'd do something particularly nasty to Eddums. So I'll give you all a hint. I'm going to hit him right where it hurts: The suit.


	35. Rule 35

**#35 Expect the unexpected.**

Edward Nashton laid his case of tools by the door and looked around. Robbery gone wrong they said, Stabbing. It was a bloodbath. Several scene techs were already spraying breakfast into the grass outside by the time he'd arrived. Gotham. You'd think by now you'd plumbed the depths of it's depravity and it always served up more.

Now, standing here like a voyeur, a peep, he glanced around the intimacies of a life that two people were not going to return to. A teapot tipped over, spewing cold tea into the carpet. Magazines left open on the coffee table. A remote control.

Blood splattered everything. The corpses looked moved, had the criminals rifled through their pockets, looking for more treasure? Greedy little cretins.

He sighed and turned around to face the front door which now lay ajar. 'Are you two _imbeciles_ going to stand there, or are you going to help me catalog this crime scene?' He demanded roughly.

'Nashton, it's full on Chainsaw Massacre in there!' One tech, more than just a little green by the gore spoke.

'It's blood,' He deadpanned as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'It's certainly not _your_ blood. So I suggest you come and take samples so we can determine whose blood it _actually_ is.'

He stared down the incredulous technician and made it more than clear that he at least was made of sterner stuff.

The scene beyond the small suburban house was typical. The crime scene tape held back the throng of curious and nosy. The one thing a crowd was good for was keeping the idiot cops busy so that he and his team could actually work instead of having them over their shoulders. Touching things, prodding things, _screwing up his goddamn crime scene_.

He wished his transfer to cyber-crimes would come through today, now in fact so that he didn't have to go back in there because despite the stoic this-isn't-even-bothering-me look, he hated crime scenes. He hated the filth of it and none was more filthy than this. When the wind suddenly shifted, he caught the scent of the mess that some desperate, depraved criminal had left behind in there.

He sighed and entered the hallway anew. The light dimmed and the coppery tang of fresh blood enveloped his nostrils just enough for him to cringe. The wall with the stairs had one clear spray across the crisp cream paint which blossomed into fine particles. Edward could almost see where the victim had been standing when he'd been struck. The carpet held evidence of where the assailant had stood, heavier droplets marred the synthetic fibers and through the faint film of splatter - because crime scenes were always three dimensional - he could make out the outline of shoes. The criminal had taken pains to avoid standing in the blood. There were no shoe-prints. Unfortunately. There was a smear of blood as the body had been dragged into the living room.

Dear god, it was everywhere here.

Where to begin?

He would begin where the cops currently busy outside would start. ID. He double-gloved just because of the amount of sheer blood involved. Hepatitis was a real and present danger after all. He was sure there was more than enough blood splashed around the hallway and living room to comfortably confirm death - Four pints gone and your body is in serious trouble, five and you're as good as dead without swift intervention. - there must have easily been nine pints splashed around here between two of them and didn't he just know it.

With a sigh he bent to roll the first body, a male that was more than a little overweight and eventually succeeded in finding a wallet. He flicked it open and rubbed a rivulet of blood from the window. 'Heath Hamill.' He mused aloud.

He stood with the wallet still clutched firmly in his hands when he caught sight of something in the mirror that hung over the splashed fireplace.

For once his brain didn't have time to engage, he simply flung himself to the side and away from the intruder with the knife who seemed most surprised at Edward's dodge.

His shoulder was stinging. The kind of prickly heat that comes with a sharp cut to sensitive skin, but that wasn't the priority. The man in the room was. He was bald, but by choice and bare-chested. Edward could make out the drops and splatter of blood that hadn't been smeared as he'd crawled from his hiding place. He could also see two livid cuts down the side of his arm and several more under the blood that had already healed. Who in their right frame of mind did that?! The fruit-loop was just standing there, too. Watching Edward and bleeding heavily into the cream carpet. Edward stumbled away from the fireplace and towards the door as the man - clearly crazed judging by the grin on his face - chased after him.

His voice wasn't working. It just wasn't working. All it would do was take a shout, a cry, a _scream _but his muscles had seized and the knife held all his cowardly attention.

another vicious slash sent him tumbling over a soaked armchair and towards the doorway just as the blade struck the cushion with an awful tearing sound, but his assailant wasn't about to let go that easily and wrenched the blade from the foam with a snarl.

Despite being attacked by a blade-wielding maniac and nearly filleted twice so far, Edward was indignant about the mayhem this man was causing to his crime scene. The sheer carelessness!

'You're mucking up my crime scene!' He choked as he half slid, half crawled into the hallway. 'I de-demand you stop screwing up my goddamn crime scene!'

'Let me help you,' The lunatic breathed in a high nasal voice. 'Let me liberate you from this mundane existance,'

What? _What?! _He sounded like some sort of guru peddling enlightenment but as far as Edward knew, gurus did not peddle enlightenment with the aid of _knives._

Edward dodged another slash and tumbled out of the front door with an undignified yell which finally caught the attention of those in law enforcement that were attempting to hold back the barrier of humanity clamoring for the next big story.

The appearance of the crazed, blood-soaked knifeman caused panic and indecision in a widening circle around him, as though the madness was catching. Cameras flashed and reporters began shouting questions as police charged forward to apprehend the person who could most likely help them with their inquiries. The knifeman, _the tallyman _had darted back into the house and disappeared.

A couple of the puking cowardly technicians helped him up and Edward groaned at the feel of the blood on his arms and back. Now, technically, he was evidence. Grand. 'Where were you two morons?' He demanded. They at least offered no excuse. He didn't particularly want to hear one in any case.

Bullock returned, gun in hand but not with criminal. It looked as though he'd done some hefty running, sweat glistened on his raspberry face as he gasped 'Are you alright, Nashton?'

'Riddle me this, Bullock - Do I look alright to you?!' Edward hissed.

Knife wielding tallymen and blood and _good god_ when was his transfer coming through?

* * *

><p><em>There are legends of Zsasz and his ghost-like ability in Arkham. He can and will fit into spaces you never dreamed he'd fit into, just to surprise you! Edward was lucky he didn't expect him to fight back. The tally-man is up there with Joker in the list of rogues you don't screw with. Thankfully I've never had an encounter with Victor Zsasz. The man scares the blazes out of me. Have you seen the family album Arkham keeps of his victims? Riddler showed me it once. There was a lot of blood.<em>

A/N: Cue the Noir music and the gurning. Bullock would be right at home, eh? Oh look at that, we're back to Cop!Edward who is _so sick_ of the GCPD's shit. Can't say I blame him, though. I know this one A) Sounds cliche and B) Makes no sense because how can you expect the unexpected? Then it wouldn't be unexpected would it? Eh. At least we got to see Edward crap his pants. Saying that, Zsasz bearing down on you full on _Liberate_ would make anyone crap their pants.

I never actually thought I'd say this but - One HUNDRED reviews! We just passed a hundred! I shouldn't be so proud of that but I am so thank you and thank you to **scribblescribblescribble** for being the hundredth reviewer! Next week's rule seems a fitting dedication to her because she did inspire it: Ed and Jon's bromance part 3. Revenge. Next Monday!


	36. Rule 36

**#36 Think three moves ahead. **

With a final twist of the screwdriver, Edward held up the mechanism he'd been building steadily and silently for the last hour. It gleamed a dull emerald green as he smirked. The Riddler trophy went down on a table next to a dozen similar copies but they weren't for Batman, for once. Nor were they for Catwoman. It chirped happily _'How many riddles does it take to drive a scarecrow batty?' _

They were the means of his revenge. His heavily taped and torn fingers tapped at the gashed wood as he thought of the best way to begin his retribution.

Once began, he would have to make himself scarce. The Scarecrow was not a forgiving man in the wake of cruel jokes and honestly, Edward wasn't surprised by that. Come to think of it, he'd never really asked _why_ Crane despised those he did. It was almost like an unspoken agreement. He'd never questioned Edward's utter hate for his father, the police or any of his usual ranting targets. Edward mused that Jonathan probably didn't even care. Not that Edward cared about the horrors Crane had witnessed, he was much too selfish for that.

Oh well, Jon only knew about roughly half of his bolt-holes. Edward still had the rented storage locker in Dead Switch's name, the hotel room in The Narrows under an alias and one or two derelicts on the outskirts of Gotham itself. If worse come to worse he supposed he could always take up residence at Arkham but he would have to be _desperate_ to purposefully land himself there.

His hand reached out and lovingly stroked the curve of the question mark.

'_Bats and Cats and Riddles, oh my!_'

Oh yes, this was going to be fun.

* * *

><p>Some bullshit excuse had gotten him past the front door and Jonathan was always eager to talk about his infernal work. Like all rogues, he viewed it as the most important thing in the city limits. Edward viewed it as one of the most limited uses <em>ever<em> but it would be _bad manners_ to point that out.

He also had a test subject in the lab. Wonderful.

'What exactly are you working on now, Jon?' Edward frowned and reached out to touch a bubbling crucible. Jonathan's hand snaked out and smacked his errant fingers away from the glass.

'I'm working on a strain of toxin that will increase dopamine production to near dangerous proportions, I'm calling it UltraToxin but I'm having trouble with _the side effects._'

'Side effects?' Edward's hands drew away from the manufacturing equipment and Jonathan smirked.

'The test subject invariably loses control of core temperature control and develops a fever that boils the brain, all while shrieking delightedly with particularly vivid-'

Edward winced. 'Sorry I asked,' His attention wandered to Jonathan's latest guinea pig and was delighted to find him strapped into the gurney and ready to test. He already seemed highly agitated; all it would probably take was the loosening of his restraints. Enough to allow the terrified man's fingers to eventually work open the others.

'Edward, are you paying attention?' Jonathan demanded with the sharp tongue of a teacher and snapped him out of his tunnel vision.

'Of course Jon,'

'Summarise our conversation,'

'Must I?' He begged good-naturedly. A churlish smirk crawled up Jon's face.

'Indulge me,'

Edward clasped his hands behind his back and took a thoughtful step back as his eidetic memory once again dazzled. He doubted Jon paid attention to the movement of his hands behind his back. Just the one strap, he had no desire to be held by scalpel-point by his own idiotic design.

Once he'd successfully proven to be a genuine savant at multilevel thinking, Edward changed tactics. 'I believe it's customary for a guest to get tea?' He asked pointedly.

'Oh. Yes.' Jon frowned as his thoughts were derailed suddenly and he was forced to concede to social etiquette, a skill he had never really had grasp of . 'Come upstairs then, I'm sure the test subject can wait.'

_Oh I don't think he can,_ Edward mused delightedly as he followed Scarecrow out of the door.

It happened as he was pouring boiling water into two cups.

BANG.

Shriek.

CRASH.

Jonathan's arm jerked and he began pouring boiling liquid all over the kitchen bench. Neither particularly cared, it wasn't even their kitchen. The kettle went down onto the damp balding marble effect plastic as Jonathan fumed. 'What is going on down there? If he's-'

The basement door slammed open and the test subject streaked past.

Jon said some highly unprofessional things and gave chase as Edward enjoyed a chuckle at the expense of The Scarecrow. Watching Crane running was like watching a giraffe trying to gallop without first having sorted out the business of actually standing. All flailing legs and frenetic overcompensation. No wonder Batman hardly had trouble catching him, Jonathan was not a sprinter.

The bag he'd stashed by the front door was dragged in and Edward began his wander around the Scarecrow's lair. Let's see now. He wanted an average of at least three in each room plus a fisheye. He wanted to record every moment of Jon's torture to enjoy in the future.

He was particularly proud of his use of the crawl space behind Jonathan's bed. If he had calculated properly, the trophy would be squawking behind his ear for the entire night and, genius as he was with chemistry, Edward doubted Jonathan would be clever enough to figure out where the infernal sound was coming from.

Having succeeded in assuring Jonathan Crane would never have another good night's sleep until he moved his entire operation – Something a rogue like him would be loathe to do – Edward went back to enjoying his tea.

Five minutes later, Jonathan was back, dragging the unconscious test subject. He had a bloody gash in the middle of his forehead that Scarecrow seemed eager to avoid touching.

He dragged the subject to the basement and swore heavily.

'Problem, Jon?' Edward smirked with practiced nonchalance.

'The little cretin has broken my distillation tubes,' Jon growled. Which meant that the entire basement was flooded with UltraToxin fumes. 'At least that explains why he was so terrified he ran headlong into a wall,' Jonathan mused. 'I shall have to record that and test on it later.'

Edward snorted. He doubted Jonathan would be doing any concentrating for a good while. Time to make his exit and find somewhere nice and secure in Nantucket to enjoy his friend's destabilization.

'Well, I would love to stay and help Jon, but I have things of my own that require my attention.' Edward drained his cup and left it beside the trophy on the table.

'Yes, yes. Goodbye Edward.' Jonathan muttered distractedly.

Jonathan was still brooding over the loss of his precious equipment and the fact that his lab was now flooded with UltraToxin. His night would not improve, Edward was sure of it.

He suppressed a smirk as he made it out of the door and to freedom.

* * *

><p>'<em>How many of these are there?!<em>' Jonathan screamed.

Edward sat back and smirked as The Scarecrow got on with the task of finding the dozens of trophies he'd scattered around his temporary home. He was pleased he'd bothered with the bulkier fish-eyes that included the microphones. He could lip read well enough but he just couldn't imagine the fury and frustration that were evident in Jon's voice as he tore the room to shreds.

'_Nigma! I know this is your doing_!'

He resisted the urge to lean forward and interact with him, the idea was to make him suffer and Edward knew he wouldn't be able to resist giving him hints.

Jonathan finally found one and proceeded to smash it with vindictive delight. His euphoria was short lived. The counters for the other trophies decreased at the loss of another signal. That made them louder, faster repeating nightmares. A lose/lose situation which only seemed to frustrate The Scarecrow even more.

'_When I get my hands on you Edward, you'll wish you were dead!'_

Edward savoured it. _If, Jonathan_. He replied inwardly. _If you catch me._

The only sanctuary he would find in that house would be the basement. _Such_ a shame that it was currently still filled with UltraToxin fumes.

Jonathan seemed to have forgotten that Edward has played chess with him, frequently. Edward could read The Scarecrow like a book. It wasn't that hard to think three moves ahead.

* * *

><p><em>Ouch, remind me not to get the boss all riled up. He does hit you where it'll hurt the most. Scarecrow won't take this lying down, not at all. Maybe it's time I got myself arrested and spent some time in my nice quiet cell in Arkham?<em>

A/N: Oh my god I have spent forever sitting on this one giggling my head off at it. I'm super excited to show this. Riddler's Revenge! This one's for Scrib who really wanted to see Edward get his own back AND she was my one hundredth reviewer! Awesome, right?

**JustRandome** was close when they said it would involve Fear Gas. Yes and then again, no. I don't think Scarecrow particularly wants to sleep with his mask on in the basement and risk a leak. Then again, the alternative is listening to bad Wizard of Oz riddles. Choices, choices.


	37. The 10k Interlude

Alright. I promised somewhere around the teen mark that I'd do something to Eddums suit if I hit ten thousand views. Now that...Was partially in jest because I didn't actually think I'd hit 10k. Or 30+ favs. Or 100 comments. _Ahem._ Sorry, still trying to bend my head around how popular this thing is. Well, I'm of my word. Lets do something awful to Edward's precious suit!

* * *

><p><strong>Bonus 10k chapter: Dogs are not Man's Best Friend.<strong>

It started, ominously, with the doorbell. Nothing good ever comes from doorbells. It was a strange theory but Edward Nigma had sat through enough thrillers and slasher flicks - Never by choice mind you, but his peers had an...Eclectic taste - to know that a doorbell ringing at 3 am on a wet and misty morning should have gone unanswered. Unfortunately for him, through a combination of sleep deprivation and an inherent desire to chastise and tongue lash whichever unfortunate had caused him to fall out of his comfortable computer chair at the ring of the bell, he was going to answer.

Consciousness and awakeness were not similar in the least.

Edward stumbled through his darkened lair, grumbling to himself he'd hang whoever was at the door by the tittle as a warning. No, he'd do better. He'd _make them_ the question mark. Whatever he'd have to break to do it.

'Who in their right mind-?!' He didn't get much further.

'EDDIE!'

Ow.

The sheer explosive happiness almost concussed him, not that it would take much. He'd only had an hour's sleep. He blinked blearily and found a black and red clown on his doorstep with two hulking, giggling bags of fur. Her hair stuck up in angles that suggested concussive force and that theory was furthered by the smell of burned hair that overlayed the whole thing, an even more powerful stench than wet dog. An hour was not nearly long enough to deal with the sunny, sugar addled harlequin. 'Harley,' He grunted. His voice sounded like a sick, possibly dying frog. If he'd caught something from interacting with those filthy lackeys he paid - 'What're you doing here?' He asked thickly.

'I was kinda hoping you'd put me and my babies up for the night!' She chirped desperately. His first instinct was to go with no and slam the door in her face. On the other hand, not housing Harley instantly volunteered you for a very volatile visit from the plant lady, Pamela Isely who was currently on her one and only holiday in the Amazon getting together with nature to murder and mutilate the loggers that threatened it.

Edward wasn't quite sure how long that little working holiday would take but he was well aware that Ivy_ would_ hear about such an incident. It wasn't that Edward was scared of Ivy, he was just fond of living. 'The night?' He inquired.

Harley laughed rather pathetically and played with a pom-pom on her costume. 'Yeah. I woulda gone to Red's but she's out and well, y'see, we had an incident with the microwave and a grenade...' She chuckled. 'It was an honest mistake! How was I to know it would blow sky high?'

Edward barely refrained from replying rather snarkily - That's what grenades do. 'And Joker kicked you out for that?' He raised an eyebrow. It didn't take the deductive skills of Batman or the intelligence of The Riddler to see what had happened.

'Nah...he threw me out because I blew up the oven,' Harley gave another nervous chuckle. 'But don'tcha worry! I know where I went wrong! I think.'

Note to self, do not let Harley do anything domestic. At all.

He knew that despite his very real and true feelings on Harley, he was going to have to let her in. Why couldn't she have bothered Jonathan? He didn't want filthy slobbering dogs in his hideout, he already had to put up with filthy, slobbering lackeys! Lackeys that give him germs and are incompetent at best and destructive cretins unworthy of his pay at worst. Still, he'd rather have those giggling, flea ridden menaces than be choked out by a daisy. 'This arrangement will last only for the night.' He warned her.

'Gotcha!' Harley smiled.

'Come in,' Edward sighed and pushed the door open. 'I suppose you'll be taking my bed.' Harley squealed in delight and made to move past when Edward's hand slammed into the lintel and he turned to her with his most menacing glare. 'But if I wake up to those mangy things on my sheets or destroying my traps, i will give instruction to shoot them,' He menaced.

'Uh, sure thing Eddie!'

'Good.'

Another jumbo jet screech signaled Harley's acceptance of the stipulation and she bounded in, followed somewhat lazily by Bud and Lou.

He closed the door and followed her onto the main floor as she looked around. 'Wow Eddie, I expected something...Greener.' He resisted the urge to snap that he wasn't _totally_ obsessed with the colour, thankyouverymuch. 'And why're the walls covered in these wierd symbols?' Harley muttered.

'That's _math!_' He spluttered. 'Calculations for my next series of traps!'

'On the wall?' Harley giggled.

'I ran out of room on the chalkboards,' Edward admitted ruefully.

'Mistah J usually puts smiley faces and jokes and stuff on the wall! He calls it interior decorating.' Harley laughed and then it fell. 'I goofed up.' She hiccuped. 'Mistah J won't take me back this time!'

Any other fool would have assured her that Joker would have taken her back. After all, she was his...God knows. However Edward simply didn't care. In fact, he rather hoped Joker didn't so they would all be spared the drama and pageantry of their relationship. After all, Joker didn't _need_ Harley, not really.

Still, he was not paid to be a psychologist. He was achingly tired and his old, understuffed computer chair was looking more and more inviting. He had a bed but, well, Harley would be using it. He may not want her there but there was such a thing as _manners._ Plus - Ivy would bear down on him with the leaf brigade if Harley began a litany of complaints about her back and it's aches from him and his lumpy old couch. She dealt with Harley's whining simply and effectively.

'Food's in the fridge, there's a Tv somewhere.' He mumbled and ran a hand down his face. He could fall asleep against a wall, he had on occasion.

'You have a Tv Eddie?' Harley laughed. 'You?'

'The lackeys use it. Keeps them quiet.' He grumbled and began to climb the stairs.

He didn't remember throwing off his jacket, didn't remember collapsing into his chair, he didn't remember going back to sleep.

* * *

><p>'Lou! Lou you don't do that to Eddie's- <em>Awww baby!<em>'

Edward woke to the sounds of canine retching and immediately sat up. The door to his office was open, that was unusual. He could also hear quite alarming sounds from downstairs. It took him a second to remember Harley and her Hyenas had turned up like filthy, insane waifs looking for a warm hearth and had somehow concluded that the best prospect of that was _him._

He still felt wretchedly unprepared for the day. Coffee. He needed coffee. His hand reached out for his jacket, always splayed across the keyboards by his feet but found it not there. Suspicious, still too early for unhappy deductions. He staggered upright in his wrinkled shirt and made for the open door.

Downstairs, Harley was frantically trying to yank something out of Lou's mouth. He responded by tugging back even harder. How could such a petite young thing be so boistrous with such powerful and dangerous animals? She thought of them as nothing more than overgrown puppies, Edward saw them as overgrown disease carriers. Harley promptly saw him, turned to shield her pet from his sight and smiled. 'Morning Eddie!'

'I thought we agreed, only the night Harley?' Edward groaned.

'Yeah, um, y'see...I can't get in contact with Red. She usually answers, y'know and I was hoping to stay just until I could call her?'

He was too tired to argue. 'Sure Harley.'

'Yay!' She danced just as he stepped in a pile of vomit. 'Oh I meant to clean that!' She gasped at the look of abject disgust and rage on his face.

'Why is it green?' He growled.

'Oh, oh Eddie I um...Gee that's a hard one!' Harley admitted. Her shift to another leg to ponder the greenness of Hyena vomit gave him a view of Lou with a half torn green rag spewing out of his chops.

'Is that my jacket?' He asked hoarsely.

Harley looked down at her baby happily eating through several thousand dollars worth of tailoring and then back up at Edward's rapidly reddening face. 'I can getcha a new one -'

'It's eating my jacket!' He hissed.

'Ya never said anything about the jacket, Eddie! Just ya bed and ya toys! And I been real good with those!' Harley grinned sheepishly. 'E-Eddie? Are you mad? You look like Mistah J when he doesn't like the punch-line.'

Where was his cane? He would pries the remains from between its fetid teeth and then he would shoot it and _then_ he would mount it on a wall, Harley be damned.

To his utter fury and dismay, the other flea ridden gigglebox had his cane and was using it like a rawhide bone. Harley followed his incredulous line of sight and groaned. 'Bud! You put that down right now! You're not meant to chew on Eddie's things!' Bud, for his part tried to turn his back on his mistress and continue chewing through the rare wood of his beloved cane as though out of sight, out of mind worked.

Edward was all for storming over and beating the thing until it handed it over but when he made attempt to move for it, a low warning growl erupted from it's throat. His cowardly spine went rigid and his legs refused to go any further. Harley however, merely walked right up and snatched the desiccated wood from it's jaw. 'Here ya go!' She chirped and threw him the cane. The throw was poor and Edward didn't even attempt to catch it for one simple reason. It hit his shoulder and left a smear of Hyena drool before it clattered to the floor, accumulating god knows what along the way.

It was thoroughly gnawed. The wood gashed and varnish splintered. The mangy thing had even had a go at the head, made of brass specifically to his hand dimensions. It was dented and punctured in places and leaked more saliva.

He'd gone cold - no. He'd gone red hot in rage. So hot he felt like murder. Ivy be damned. Harley had finally managed to pull the remains of his custom, Italian designed jacket from the maw of Lou. The sleeves were tattered and frayed, the silk that remained was left with watermarks - more like drool-marks - and the embroidery that had been hand-stitched by the finest seamstresses they had to offer had been clawed out. It wasn't even fit for dusters.

'My jacket...My cane...'

'I'm really sorry Eddie!' Harley grimaced. 'They were just bored is all!'

He took a deep shuddering breath, as though this were a nightmare. All a nightmare. 'Harley-' He tried.

'And your hat's not so bad!' Harley pleaded.

'...Hat? My _bowler hat?!' _He had yet to see that but judging by Harley's expression, it had fared a little worse than the jacket and cane.

'Yeah! They found that first and they were playing Frisbee with it! It was really actually quite cute and I was gonna wake you up but you were sleepin'. Honestly Eddie you're so attached to things and Mistah J thinks that's bad for you-'

_'Bad for me?_' He choked.

'Yeah! Like maybe that's why you're crazy!' Harley went on oblivious. 'I dunno I always thought it was because you never had a girlfriend. Hey! I can set you up on a date! How about Pammy?'

Edward stared at her dumbfounded and then roared 'I'm not crazy!'

'So is that a yes to Pammy?' Harley winked.

'No! God, no!'

As though the gods of irony were at play, his door was thrown open into the misty afternoon. 'Harl?' It was female and anxious in nature.

Harley squealed and ran to the door, followed excitedly by her two diseased pets. 'Pammy! You got my texts!'

The hood of the coat, which Edward was not surprised to find was made from a leaf, came down and exposed Ivy and her mess of red hair to the air. 'Of course. I got in the first flight back. He kicked you out again?'

'She blew up a microwave, and the oven.' Edward choked, at a loss for words. For the first time, Ivy focused on him and a frown of unhappiness settled onto her features.

'You came to Nigma?' She asked Harley.

'He was the only one who answered! And he was so super-nice! He gave me his bed and didn't mind at all that Bud and Lou ate his hat. And his coat...and his stick.'

'It was a cane!' His life was absurd. This entire conversation was absurd.

Ivy pierced him with a far more jaded look than Harley could have conjured. 'He did, did he?'

'Uhhuh!' The blonde chirped.

'I don't understand why you didn't just go to my greenhouses.' Ivy replied. 'You have a key!'

'But I don't like being alone, Red! You know that!'

She had a...? All along? That was it. That was it! 'Take her!' He begged Ivy. Take her and go!'

Ivy gave him a haughty look and turned to her one and only friend. 'Come on Harl, I think you've overstayed your welcome.'

'Maybe. Thanks for putting me up Eddie! You're such a pal! Sorry about your stuff!' Harley waved frantically as she walked out of the door. Bud and Lou trailed behind her, tails between their legs and giving him the doggy equivilent of "We're watching you."

Edward sank down onto his lumpy couch and moaned. No cane, no jacket and- What was digging into his back? His hand dug through the cushions and finally came up with something green made of felt. Rather bowl shaped, or had been. Now it was jagged, covered in the remains of drool and fur. tooth marks all along the bowl, the brim was nonexistent...

His hat.

His precious hat!

* * *

><p>Back when I was planning the rules and the chapters to go with it, a lot of summaries featured the Mad Love duo. I think I've toned it down. There's only been two direct impacts with Joker and only one so far with Harley so this makes them even! I'm not counting the numerous passing references I've made to my favourite clowny courtship which must number in the dozens. Anyway - Thank you! Enjoy!<p>

Look! I got Eddie to do this one! On the phone though, I'm not stupid enough to go looking for the man who wants to test deathtraps with me.

_A tittle is the dot on the end of an exclamation or question mark you illiterate fool. Whatever you were thinking, stop that right now! I don't need that getting back to Joker, thank you! Harley most definitely overstayed her welcome, a whole outfit ago. As for the Hyenas, they're no longer breathing. Dead Switch sent me the most amusing picture from Cobblepot's little museum. It was wearing a top-hat. Cretin, that was probably aimed at me. _

_As for you, you little annoyance, when I find you-_

Aaaannnd that's all we've got time for. I'm sure the rest would have just been petty insults and a monologue of what he'll do to me. Thank you for all the faves, comments and love I get for torturing poor Edward! Please do continue to send in your reactions, I'm an irrevocable review whore.


	38. Rule 37

**#37 The GCPD aren't all incompetents. **

It was late, so late in fact it was almost morning. The Riddler hadn't slept a wink which wasn't unusual, what was unusual was that he wasn't enjoying his insomnia in his favourite wingback by the light of monitors as he played games with Gotham, the FBI and Anonymous simultaneously - So far, the only ones to impress were Anonymous who were more than a little hacked off he made them all appear like children playing in a sandbox - he was actually twiddling his thumbs in a GCPD cell, which was not the vision of omnipotent knowledge he liked people to see. He was also just a little upset.

His capture hadn't been by Batman, for once. It had been the GCPD. Gordon and his idiot lackeys had managed to capture the greatest genius in the world. _Granted_ he'd been asleep at the time. _Granted_ he'd also been cuddling a teddy - Poor Epicurus was last seen in an evidence bag - and _granted_ one of his stupid minions had shorted out the power again which left all his best and most amusing traps virtually useless - What were they in, the stone age? - but it shouldn't have been so easy to stroll into his lair and catch him asleep with a half chewed toy, drooling onto his keyboards. There was little to no doubt that there would be a picture - and if he judged that person to be smart, they would not share it with the internet.

The random, ballistic approach to spelling that several criminals had made on the walls around him irritated him further, even attempting to decipher _Gurdon's a pissy wunker _gave him a headache. It wasn't as though he hadn't been here before, he had once or twice. One of his most memorable was just after he'd been captured as Enigma, before the courts had ruled him insane. Ah, but the past was a bad place to be. At least it was for him. It wasn't even as if they'd left him with a conundrum book and pen. Not after that incident Joker rather liked telling that involved a pen, a hostage and lots of screaming. Perhaps for effect - or he was just a purebred bastard - he particularly enjoyed telling it at Tomato Soup Tuesday. Therefore only those with strong stomachs dared ingest the watery, oversalted dish.

Normally a patient like himself, a rogue, would be immediately transferred to Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane but the asylum had closed for business after finding a _nasty_ surprise in Joker's pants. Hint: It wasn't that he preferred briefs over boxers. The entire island was on bomb alert lockdown so they'd brought him back to the precinct, shoved him in a cell and left him to his own devices as they waited for lockdown to lift.

Edward did not deal well with boredom. He was a genius, a progeny, a savant. He had multi-level thought processes that could go in concentric circles and always looked for fresh input. Having nothing available to him made him edgy and his insomnia made it painful to attempt to plan out any future tests of intelligence.

He had to hand it to them, the GCPD seemed to be blessed with far too much luck and they weren't all incompetents. Those traps he'd devised that didn't run on electricity had been carefully avoided with the minimum of casualty - no-one had died after all, a pity - and now they were stuck with him and likewise, he was stuck with them.

This wasn't how he'd intended his night to go. He'd envisioned something less humiliating for him, more humiliating for those agencies that had caught his attention. When he found which one of those intelligence challenged _apes _he owned had shorted out the power, he was going to invent a trap just for them.

* * *

><p><em>I totally didn't short out the power trying to charge my iPhone. Absolutely not, that's absurd! What? I was firing off an irritated email to the faceless boob who replaced Steve Jobs about Bendgate. It's almost a shame that photo isn't on the internet. I'm rather tempted to track down the idiot that took it and threaten his wifechildren so he would post it. It would give the boss something to concentrate on when he's bored, besides making my life a misery. The last time he got bored he told me he wanted a shark. Where am I meant to get a goddamn shark? _

A/N: Forgive me. I'm inexcusably late. Guess who caught the dreaded writers block? Real trouble coming up with a concept for this and let me tell you - even from my eyes this one's all over the shop. Late, short AND crappy. Ah, writers block. I hate you. Still, I didn't want to rush and make it worse so apologies for the delay! Also: Epicurus isn't canon. He is however, adorable. Edward Nigma has a teddy. Shush. It's fluffy.

Also: I freaking called it!_ Victor Zsasz_ is tipped to be in Gotham, at least in a _memorable appearance_ as well as a host of other characters. Although those of us in Jolly Old England who can't watch videos on the internet *raises hand* Have to wait to mid-October to see the first episode. Is this revenge for Doctor Who? I feel this is revenge for Doctor Who. Stitcher has a sad. She's missing something but she doesn't know what.


	39. Rule 38

**#38 Never trust technology.**

Quiet. Solitude. Peace. All the things he hadn't been privy to for the last few month. Arkham Asylum was never quiet, there was no place or time for solitude, crammed in their little hutches, strung up in their straightjackets. There were few people who could find solitude and solace in their own heads, never mind the outside world. It was ridiculous. Even during the early hours, when one would assume all would be silent as people slept, it was filled with muttering and murmuring.

There was said to be a correlation between sleep-talking and mental illness. The more you talked in your sleep, the more likely it is that you had some form of insomnia and insomnia was linked quite well to mental illnesses such as Schizophrenia or ADD. Most of the floor talked in their sleep and god forbid you to be one of the unlucky ones that fell asleep last.

Jonathan muttered phobias in his sleep. The more unpronounceable - the deeper he was. Joker made odd whistling coos interlaced with an occasional breathy _'Batsy!'_ when you least expected it. Harley talked about her babies, usually as though they were eating something. Tetch was one of the worst. Edward had lost count of the amount of times he'd been wavering between sleep and wake only to be startled by an alarmed cry of _'JABBERWOCKY!' _Perhaps that was the reason he tended to end up in medical quite a lot. It was hard to beat on a man when you're tied to the bed by a broken leg. Why had no-one done the courteous thing and killed him? Medical was really the safest place for Hatter.

Thankfully though, the riddle of the yet-to-die wonderland fanatic was no longer his problem. It had taken a few month, not his personal best, but he was out and free and looking to challenge Batman to another test of intelligence.

Computers hummed as he flicked through his various off-shore accounts, checking to see which ones the police hadn't tagged with tracers. Really, how dumb did they think him? Did they honestly believe he didn't have software to detect these things? Imbeciles.

A monitor flickered and drew his attention. While a flickering monitor was by no means odd, this was the one monitoring CCTV around his compound and any slight movement may indicate a person - or persons - either trying to sneak up on him which was beyond foolish, or trying to hack into and loop his feed to hide such attempts.

This was neither. The entire monitor had been taken up by three, shadowy individuals. 'Hello Mr. Nigma.'

_Please_ tell him they weren't going to try the whole darkened room on a TV shtick. That was so 80's cop show. 'And who do I have the pleasure of _not_ seeing?'

'You mean you don't remember us?'

'I can't see your faces you idiots!' Honestly. What he wouldn't give for _professionals._

A light came on. 'How about now?' For a second he was puzzled and then he remembered. His little university hackers. Well, well. He hadn't seen them since oh, this time last year. Flash image of three screaming kids shouting free publicity at the top of their lungs. They dared to try and hack him and he forced them to commit a real crime which had incidentally aided him very much. Probably why he'd left them alive in the first place. They looked gaunt and haunted, good. That would teach them a valuable lesson in screwing with The Riddler.

'Ah yes, now I do recognize you. Well, I can't say you weren't promising, a shame you chose all the wrong targets. Here to say sorry?' He wondered with a smirk. 'Here to beg for mentoring?' They would be far easier and probably better company than Dead Switch and the two brainless transport lumps he kept around.

'Do you want to know what happened to us after you had us arrested as terrorists?' The left one demanded.

'Not particularly but I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway,' He sighed.

'We were sent to Blackgate!'

'It _is_ particularly nice this time of year.' Edward smirked.

'They hate terrorists in there!'

'Of course they do. Your typical thug is not very bright but blindly patriotic.' Edward smiled.

'Then - then they decided that we had some sort of blame fixation on you! No-one would listen that you'd threatened us and our families!'

'It is a rather absurd theory, isn't it? I'm very proud of that.'

'And then we met a nice lady by the name of Amanda Waller.'

_Who?_

'And she offered us the chance to get even.'

Revenge. Yawn. Such a predictable motive. Certainly not one of his favourites.

Edward really should have remembered that the technology that was your friend today, may not always be your friend tomorrow.

**_CRASH._**

What was that? He turned to glance at the door behind him. Was that his imagination or was that the shriek of a certain female lackey?

'Is there a problem, Mr Riddler?' They sounded smug and amused.

'What did you do?' He growled. Another shriek. That was most definitely Dead Switch at full volume, in pain. He should leave, now. While whatever had just come crashing into his hideout - Probably Batman, hooray! - was busy incapacitating or killing his lackey - though if it were Batman, he'd put money on incapacitating but there was a _lot_ of screaming. Batman wasn't well known for torture.

'Nothing.' The middle one - Donny, was it? - smiled.

He didn't have time for these kinds of games. 'What did you do?!' He roared as his temper broke.

'Distracted you. We hacked into your network, _Mr. Riddler_ and leaked your location on every frequency we could find.'

A cold prickle broke across the back of his neck just as the door was kicked in and Batman strode into the room.

'Peace out, yo.'

The monitor went dead.

_Who said that in this day and age?!_

* * *

><p><em>Batman broke six fingers. Two ribs. My cheekbone and bruised so much more than just my ego. He was mad, or maybe just in a rush and in no mood to fight about going into custody. I heard a lot of people went looking for Riddler with those leaked directions and yes, Edward most certainly began researching the name Amanda Waller as soon as he broke out of Arkham. Play with fire. Get burned. All that jazz. Interesting lady, by the by. <em>

A/N: Smashed my writers block! Booyah! AND with an _Assault On Arkham_ reference. Doing well! But creativity is getting a little thin on the ground as those of you watching me in general will know. I just started a new project, something a little bigger than just one OCD, green loving, riddle ranting villain. Shifts is up in the Justice League section of Comics. Basically an excuse to torture heroes and poke fun at my favourite characters. Feel free to stop by! #ShamelessPlug


	40. Rule 39

**#39 Take note of your surroundings **

His breath was coming out in puffs and all he can do to stop himself was wheezing. Riddle me this, he thought angrily, why didn't I stop when I was ahead?

It had been utterly foolish of him. Practically stupid of him.

He should have known the amount of anger the great big Bat would have for him upon finding out he had one of his precious little birds.

He skidded along the streets in the slush, trying as hard as he could to not fall into the wet, disgusting mix of muck and snow.

What a fool he was.

It had all started rather simply.

The newest Robin, a girl, had let her guard down and he had caught her.

She was to be the newest addition to a web of traps that Batman was set to go through.

She was supposed to be the key in bringing down the Bat.

The key to proving he was, and always had been, smarter than the flying rodent.

And then everything had fallen apart.

Batman had managed to make his way through every trap and riddle, every impossible situation and he'd found a way through it. And then he'd freed the young Robin and Edward had found the sense to turn tail and run.

No one would ever get away with threatening one of Batman's brood of children. Even attempting was a death wish, which was why he was running as of this moment.

Edward skidded and slammed into a brick wall, but managed to propel himself forward in a flailing motion, his limbs managing to agree with his mind that yes, yes he really did need to get away right now, and no, now was not the time to fail on him.

He tripped over a garbage can and fell to the ground, scraping his palms and ripping his precious suit, but still he propelled himself forward, twinges of fear racing up and down his spine. He could remember what happened to Joker when Joker had professed to have killed one of Batman's children. The amount of rage and blood in those moments had made everyone in Gotham wonder whether or not Batman was finally – with good riddance – going to clean the world of the touches of the Joker.

Unfortunately, he hadn't, but a lesson had been taught to every single rogue that Batman had, and might, go up against; touch his children and feel his wrath.

Which was why Edward's heart was pumping along and why he was running.

He had no doubt that he would live; that was a given. If Batman hadn't killed Joker for killing his precious Robin, he wouldn't kill the Riddler. That was, however, of little comfort to him. Batman may not kill him, but that isn't to say he won't put Edward in a full body cast, and that he wouldn't have to eat and breathe through tubes for quite some time.

Eventually he came to the end of an alley and sighed.

He was certain he'd outran the Batman, and hidden fairly well from him.

Perhaps now was a good time for a nice little rest.

He leaned against a nearby wall, not noting it creak with his weight, and reached up to tip his bowler down to cover his eyes, before remembering that he'd lost it somewhere along his run.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes beneath his cracked and bent glasses before letting them shut.

Maybe just a moment he could rest and let himself relax before he continued hiding from the Bat for the better part of a decade? Perhaps Jonathan would put him up.

He rest his head against the wall and let his breathing slow.

His heart stopped playing the rumba in his chest.

Everything was slowing down and the adrenaline was starting to wear off.

Creeaa-

What was that noise?

His eyes wearily slid open.

Crrrrr-

Where was the damned noise coming from?

CRUNCH

"Ggghhhhccckkk!" Edward choked, his hands wrapping around the hand that had punched through the fairly weak wall and wrapped around his neck.

The hand that felt fairly like...a Kevlar-like substance that a certain flying rodent had an affinity for.

"Riddler," Batman growled, pulling Edward through the weakened wall and tossing him into another.

Faintly, before Batman delivered unto him a beating like no other that he'd ever given, Edward mused that he should start minding his surroundings.

* * *

><p><em>He didn't learn from the last one. I did. I now go in the opposite direction, I tend to be at large somewhat longer. It's gotta hurt being pulled through a wall, I don't care how thin. It. Has. To. Hurt. Still, that doesn't mean I won't laugh at Nigma's pain, I will. Because if anyone deserves it, it's him.<em>

A/N: I can't take the credit for this one. The amazingly talented **L.D. Eddy** wrote it and I have to say it's one of her best yet. Review if you agree!


	41. Rule 40

**#40 Birthday presents can be threatening**

Edward Nygma had never had a problem overlooking his own birthday. In fact, he could hardly ever tell how old he was unless asked, and then he'd have to calculate with what year it was and what year he'd been born. It wasn't something he remembered, or cared for. Birthdays had been something he'd never celebrated, and for good reason.

Little Eddie Nashton, however, had always had hopes and dreams and wishes on his birthdays. Every year, since he could understand what a birthday was – one of the girls in his class had been nice enough to explain to Edward what a birthday was and what had happened on a birthday, since he'd never really had one.

She'd told him about cake and ice cream and parties and great big mounds of presents and in his little eyes it had sounded like some sort of fairytale or heaven, and on that day, he'd decided he'd want a birthday and a birthday party.

When he got home from school that day, little six year old Eddie told his mother about birthdays, because he wanted his mommy to know about the magic of birthdays and maybe they could have one for her and him and daddy and it would be so much fun.

She'd told him to shush and had looked around nervously, as if someone would hear them and his ideas of birthdays. He'd thought nothing of it, too wrapped up in his birthday dreams.

Eventually, Eddie's little ideas of birthdays had faded away as the next day at school, the teacher had brought them down to the library and had told them to pick out any book they wanted and Edward had decided that this was much better than any sort of birthday or birthday party anyone could give him.

There was a day a few months later, however, that brought the birthday business back.

Specifically, it was Little Eddie Nashton's birthday.

He woke up eager and excited, he couldn't wait for his birthday.

However, the entire morning, nothing happened.

His mother got him ready for school and sent him onto the bus with nary a "Happy Birthday".

Neither his teacher, nor his classmates wished him a Happy Birthday. There was no celebration waiting for him at school.

His birthday was not going the way he thought it was. It was very disappointing.

His school day passed by slowly, birthday wishes slowly dying inside his mind. Any hope for a big birthday was being crushed into the dirt.

Eventually it was time for him to go home.

He climbed onto the giant yellow prison and watched with melancholy out the window as he rode it home.

The sight he saw waiting for him at the bus stop made all of his doubts and crushed hopes slip away into pure joy.

His mommy was standing there. His mommy was standing there and she was holding a box. A box with pretty paper and a bow!

A giant grin slipped onto his face and he practically ran off of the bus, intent on getting to his mommy as quickly as possible.

"Mommy! What's in the box?" He had asked.

She'd smiled down at him gently.

"It's a present for a certain birthday boy I know."

"Me!"

"If you behave on the way home I'll let you open it as soon as we get there."

Little Eddie nodded and shut his mouth immediately. Father always said that if he was told to behave he was supposed to close his mouth and shut up.

The trip home was quiet, Eddie swinging his arms by his sides and making sure he didn't make any noise in case mommy decided he wasn't allowed to get a birthday present.

They walked into the house and mommy ushered him up to his bedroom and sat him down on his bed. "Do you want to open it now, Eddie?" Mommy asked.

He nodded his head at an impossible rate and she smiled and chuckled before handing the box to him.

He ripped the paper off of the box, uncaring if he made a mess, and tore the lid off of the box.

He peered into the box and his eyes slowly widened.

A big teddy bear, a soft cuddly tan bear with a green ribbon, peered up at him kindly from the box.

He let out a childish squeal and ripped the bear from the box, cuddling it tight to his chest.

"I LOVE IT MOMMY!" He yelled.

She flinched, but smiled at his enthusiasm.

The rest of the day went by well...until dinner.

All of them had sat down around the table, a plate set even for teddy.

His father glared at the teddy bear before staring at his mother.

"The fuck does he have that for?" He demanded.

His mother looked afraid for a moment before looking at his father.

"It was a birthday present for him."

"Who gave it to him?" Nashton Sr. demanded.

His mother blinked and stared down at her plate.

"Eddie, go up to your room, please. Take your bear with you."

"Mommy? Daddy? What's wrong?"

"Eddie, go to your fucking room," Nashton Sr. growled.

Eddie nodded and grabbed his teddy before running up the stairs.

He heard a plate smash.

"You think we can fucking spare money on bullshit like that?!" Nashton Sr. roared.

Eddie slammed his door behind him and crawled under his bed, bringing teddy with him.

He heard a yell and clenched his eyes shut, burying his face in teddy's tummy.

That night, Eddie fell asleep to the sounds of fighting.

In the morning, he woke up and daddy was the one to bring him to school.

When he got home, police officers were at his house asking for mommy.

At dinner, daddy explained that mommy had left them. She'd left him because of his teddy.

When it was bed time, Eddie stared at his teddy.

Birthdays were bad Birthdays were dangerous. Birthday presents were just as bad. Birthday presents were just as dangerous.

* * *

><p><em>And now we all know what Edward did to his dear old man, don't we, children? Personally, I would have taken a crowbar to his fat head. What kind of guy won't let his kid have a teddy bear?<em>

A/N: I'm speechlessly in love and horrified by this. That's how you can tell** L.D. Eddy** - The breaker of hearts and tugger of heartstrings - has written this one for me and it's the last guest chapter.

It's that time. I'm both excited and sad to start the countdown. **Four** chapters to go!

For those of us who have FINALLY seen the pilot of Gotham - Hoorah! What did you think of it? I rather enjoyed it. I cannot honestly say which character I love more: Bullock, Fish Mooney or Oswald. I cannot choose. I don't include dear Eddums on that list not because I don't like the actor - I think he's doing a good job! - I just need to see more before I judge and the pilot had a lot of Mooney and Oswald and I will definitely be watching the second episode tonight. Shhh! No spoilers or I'll return the favour with Doctor Who spoilers!


	42. Rule 41

**#41 Don't pick the dumb ones**

He'd once heard someone say you should always choose a lazy person to do a hard job because a lazy person will find an easy way to do it - Was that Bill Gates? Insufferable philanthropic pig, he hated Bill Gates - Edward Nigma had another pearl from a similar line: _Don't pick the dumb ones._

Just watching them arguing was driving his blood pressure up, or maybe that was the fact he was dangling upside-down three floors high from a Pinkney building. In the distance but getting somewhat closer were sirens.

Stupid Batman, stupid idiot cops, stupid thugs. Why did he pick the dumb ones? The ones with more muscle than sense? Why did he keep them? They were like sheep. Big, slovenly sheep. Practically brain-dead and at the time of employment he thought: At least I'm still the smart one. I can retain more control this way.

If he didn't know better, he'd swear _he _was the idiot but he knows better.

'You'll hit the boss before you hit the rope!'

'Nah, I won't! And he'll be grateful and-'

Sometimes he wondered _why? _What kind of mental trauma would do that? It should be impossible to be this stupid - you needed to be a special kind of dumb to follow orders without question - and he sometimes felt the need to ask, but brushed it off. Any answer they gave was sure to be less than worth his time. It seemed the more stupid you were, the better the world looked. Sometimes, late on a night, he envied those neanderthals like a man envies the simplicity of the ape.

It didn't take him long to see the error of his ways. He needed someone slightly smarter - not his level of intelligence, god no. The last time he'd met someone capable of matching his intellect it had not gone well - Batman didn't count. Someone of average intelligence was needed, or perhaps someone just a smidgen smarter. Someone able to use more than two syllable words.

He blinked as the hypoxia starved his beloved brain of oxygen.

He had someone like that. He knew he did. His fingers dug into various pockets and finally found his phone which had miraculously survived Batman's pummeling with only a cracked screen. He could do this. He could absolutely do this. There was no finer brain in the country, let alone the world. One simple name. Someone who could help him: _What was their name?_

'D'you think we should call somebody?'

'Nah we can do it ourselves!'

Did they think he couldn't hear them from up here? He scrolled through the shifting list of contacts until he found one that looked vaguely familiar.

'Lo?'

'Dead Switch?' He could barely articulate.

'Boss?' She sounded surprised. Relief flooded through him. She'd called him boss. He was never going to complain about that again.

He probably sounded strained. His head felt like it was about to burst. He couldn't feel his feet at all. 'Get down here and fix this.' He hissed angrily into the phone.

He hated Batman. There wasn't a worse way to be restrained than hanging from a gargoyle.

* * *

><p><em>That was a baptism of fire. Cops on their way, Mannie and Zowie taking pot-shots at the rogue and Batman probably hanging off a gargoyle nearby. My nerves, my poor nerves. I thought he was going to kill those big fat idiots for their sheer stupidity, and then who would have to haul about all that heavy equipment and machinery? Oh, right. Me. He also blamed me for taking time off, the first I might add that I had taken in over a year. He counts incarceration as time off, I do not.<em>

A/N: Seriously, I wasn't going to go through this ENTIRE series without mentioning my favourite move. It is of course - The Inverted Takedown. I love Inverted Takedown and they'd better have it in Arkham Knight. So help me god- *cough* sorry. My favourite use was in Arkham City in the old train station on Penguin's thugs. Far too much fun.

The idiom there is definitely from Bill Gates. He totally says that. And I agree with him.

There may be those of you wondering: "Who are Mannie and Zowie?" well they're from Batman's animated adventures and they're your stereotypical idiots. They're in here because I like to pay homage to my first introduction to Batman. I always found it amusing that he'd choose such morons and still profess to be the greatest mind alive. They really should stick to hauling crates and keeping Batman amusingly entertained for five seconds.

**Three** chapters to go!


	43. Rule 42

**#42 - It's never too good to be true.**

It was too good to be true. Far too good to be true.

_Something was wrong with Batman._

He was stumbling and crashing through his maze of puzzles like a drunken sailor, occasionally whimpering. Perhaps it _had_ been too easy to lure him into this. What was wrong with him, exactly? Was it contagious? Deadly? He hoped not. He wanted to kill Batman by his own means. Killing him while he was dying _anyway_ would be such a false victory.

Batman stumbled past several mildly destructive traps and managed to barely avoid every one of them. He seemed too preoccupied fending off invisible things. Punching thin air and recoiling as though something had landed a hit.

What _was_ it he'd been exposed to?

Edward watched him on the cameras, a fist jammed under his chin as he tried to think. Ivy perhaps? No, Pamela was still in Arkham, flirting with her therapist slash botanist. Joker had been working on a new strain of that laughing gas he was so fond of. Could that-? Nah.

His phone shattered the silence and he checked the caller ID before he picked up. He noted somewhat absently that Jonathan was calling and immediately, things began to make sense. 'Good day, Jon.' He answered.

'I believe you have my subject, Edward.' Terse, to the point. Jonathan was in no mood for pleasantries.

His subject? Edward found Batman on his monitors. Ah, that would explain it. Batman on Toxin - how would he fare against his traps while on such a powerful hallucinogen? Badly as it turns out. He only barely avoided the scything blades he'd blundered into triggering. Was he going to give him Batman? No. He was actually, genuinely curious about his prowess on Crane's notorious compound.

'I want him back,'

'But _I_ found him,' Edward returned. 'You should take better care of your possessions, Jonathan.'

'I had him first! He is my subject and I want him _back_!'

'Finders keepers, Jon.' He chuckled and disconnected the call.

Edward continued laughing quietly to himself as he watched Batman fight his invisible demons. He really should actively team up with Jonathan for this kind of thing more often - if only to make a profit from the tapes of Batman acting like a total tit. They'd make a fortune. Unfortunately, Scarecrow always wanted to test until they broke and Edward would like them to retain enough cognitive ability to navigate his many dangers. Probably why they made better friends than business partners.

What was that? Did he whimper 'Mummy'? Why wasn't he surprised Batman had mother issues?

His phone rang again and he gave a suffering sigh as he picked up. 'Yes, what is it?'

'I want my test subject back,' Jonathan's tone was cold enough to freeze seawater. He really should be angry that Jonathan was cutting into his entertainment, but this was so breathtakingly funny he could forgive him.

'Well come and get him, Jon.' Edward chortled and knew full well the Scarecrow wasn't stupid enough to go into one of his traps in search of a drugged up nuisance in a bat costume.

'If he's _dead_-' Scarecrow warned needlessly.

Batman had finally made it past the wall of spikes and into the room with the electrified floor. He watched him for some time, weaving back and forward, trying to make sense of what was around him.

'Oh please,' Edward snorted. 'I'm watching him right now. I could make a tidy profit on these tapes I'll have you know.'

'...Why?' A note of curiosity had crawled into his voice. Edward had to force his voice to be steady.

'Well, it may be the amusing way he's attempting to concentrate long enough to get around the electrified floor without getting shocked or cut to ribbons and without pausing long enough to whimper the word "Mummy", '

'Mummy?' His curiosity was definitely piqued. 'He said that?'

'I am an expert lipreader Jon. He's mumbling about his mother.'

His voice had turned to begrudging interest. 'I'm on my way over.'

'Bring popcorn.' Edward laughed and ended the call.

It was never, ever going to be too good to be true.

_Mummy. Hah._

* * *

><p><em>I have a copy of that tape. I sometimes trot it out for Rogues Movie Night. It's a riot. You ever seen Batman stoned off his face, shouting for his mummy? Even without being absolutely drunk it's hilarious. We like to rib him about it every now and again but not so often. It takes time for your jaw to heal properly. Ha.<em>

A/N: Seriously struggled to come up with a theme for this, not because it was difficult to find one, but it was difficult to choose one. I had so many, I just hope I chose the right one because : _Are you my mummy?_

**_Two _Chapters to go!**


	44. Rule 43

**#43 pick your fights**

You'd think by now that they'd stop putting things like this in the paper. It only ever drew the wrong sort of attention. The world's oldest puzzle-box was being brought to Gotham to be on display alongside several supposed treasures of the past, but he'd barely read any more. _World's Oldest Puzzle-Box_ was right up his alley. He didn't care that it was an artifact over three thousand years old, he didn't care that it was worth a hefty sum of money, he didn't even care that he'd be defacing a national treasure - albeit a treasure of Ancient Egypt - he just wanted to see how long it would take him to unlock it's secrets.

It was infuriatingly easy to find his way into the museum and far shorter to hack into the mainframe and shut down the security cameras. The museum's guards were laughably easy to pinpoint. They made quite the noise as they walked, talked and even whistled through the hallways of marble. Each footstep ringing out cleanly.

If he'd have still been on the side of the idiots, he would have been appalled that these people were allowed to carry guns and tasers. He skirted around one guard, blatantly smoking and fought the urge to cough.

What professionalism.

He was forced to consult a colourful map that even peons could grasp to find the Ancient Egyptian exhibit - _Show your mummy a mummy! How utterly witty, his sides were split_- and moved with speed and caution towards the somewhat understocked room.

What he found, made him both furious and wary. The dark hair cut to a stylish bob, the thin silhouette, the painted nails bearing little black ankhs-

'Sphinx?!'

She turned and, for a moment, looked surprised. 'Eddie? What are you doing here?'

'I came for-' It was behind her, wasn't it? He tried to move around and see what she was masking but she moved with him. She was shielding something on a pedestal from him. Something cube shaped. 'So, you came for it too. I should have known.'

'Came for what?' She asked far too innocently to be truthful.

'The puzzlebox.' He replied. 'The one behind your back.'

'It's egyptian,' She defended. 'It's mine.'

'It's a puzzle I wish to solve,' He returned. 'It's _mine_.'

'I don't see your name on it, Eddie.'

He growled. 'My name is Edward, Sphinx. Or Riddler.'

'You're so cold these days.' She pouted. 'You don't love me any more Eddie.'

'Just give me the puzzle-box.' He grit. There was no way on earth he was discussing his non-relationship with Sphinx whilst on a heist. Honestly, he didn't have time for women and their obsessions. Why couldn't she be obsessed with normal things like shoes and handbags? Why Him?

'Aren't gentlemen meant to let a lady win?'

'You're not a lady, Sphinx.'

'True,'

He took a step towards the raised platform but she took a step closer to the glass it had been encased in. For a second, they were at a stalemate.

'Well, there's only one possible way we can decide!' She smiled and that made him uneasy. Sphinx, besides being utterly obsessed with Egyptian artifacts, was almost as unpredictable as Joker. Even he couldn't map out every one of her reactions.

'And what would that be?' He drawled but the edge of his nervousness was there, just enough to catch and she grinned at it.

'This.'

She brought one of her weapons down on the glass case. It shattered and just for a second, he could hear the glass tinkling on the marble floor before the silence was destroyed by an alarm.

What the hell is she thinking?!

'You're mad!' He whispered as his phone alerted him that the signal had been recieved by the GCPD. The incompetent security guards of the museum were making as much noise as possible as they ran to catch them.

'Mad?' She purred.

'Give me that damn thing before you get us both caught!'

'No.'

'Mist!' He grit.

She held up the tiny ivory cube and laughed to herself. 'And that is why you won't be getting this. You can't even tell us apa-'

The problem with the women, was that they talked far too much. There's gloating and then there's giving your opponent time to react. His cane shot out and smacked the artifact clean out of her hand. it darted out and caught the cube on the edge of the question mark handle. He pulled it back as she attempted to re-snatch it.

'Edward! That is mine! Give it to me!' The first time she'd got his name right all night. He took the cube and tossed his cane in the air jauntily. The shoe was on the other foot now, wasn't it?

'I don't see your name on it, _Misty_.' He mocked and immediately dodged the scything blade that struck for him. Maybe provoking the unstable woman with dangerous blades wasn't such an excellent idea. Leaving with his prize, and more importantly his head, seemed a capital idea. His legs had already considered the pros and cons of this and taken action. He ducked out another doorway with the puzzle-box and ran for it. He fancied, as he fled with his prize, that he could hear her scream of indignant rage as security guards descended on her.

Which made the victory all the sweeter.

* * *

><p><em>Sphinx...The thing about Sphinx...She reminds me of Harley. Bubbly and absolutely stupid when it comes to the source of her affections but my god there's a vicious bitch in there. She also finds ways of getting into his hideouts that both dumbfound and make me angry. It is, after all, my job to keep her and her crazy delusions from The Riddler while he's scheming. I don't get paid enough to deal with crazy assassins with curved daggers but she hasn't done anything to me that won't heal, which is a plus.<em>

Sphinx is an Original Character owned by** Bat-teen28** and this is my part of a trade with her. I seem to be giving Eddums win after win! Maybe it's because it's the last leg. Next week's chapter is the last, I'm afraid. I never thought I'd make it to 22, but here we are, almost at that magic 44 and...I'm going to miss this series...

_**ONE**_** more chapter left!**


	45. Rule 44

**#44 Always send a lackey**

It was cold. In Gotham, that meant something. Even the penguins wore gloves. He knew - he'd been to see the waddling menace last week.

Edward Nigma huffed and stamped on the ground in a futile attempt to generate some warmth. The relief wasn't much. On this abandoned train platform, there was little in the way of insulation.

It was also icily damp and the smell of mold wafted through the air. If this were the height of summer then breathing down here would be near impossible, but it's hard to seed the area with spores when even the thermometers are frozen.

Underground was by far the safest to do this, not least because someone might happen upon the deal - someone dressed as a bat no less - but because it was also controllable. The environment was small and select. Few passers-by to get in his way.

The station, halfway to completion before the the funds had been frittered away was chosen as the staging point. The sellers would come from the docks end no doubt, and he would approach from the other tunnel. He'd rather walk the length of the grimy place rather than risk prying open a board and ending up at the mercy of a common gun and a common thug.

It was colder down here than it could ever be up on the streets of Gotham. His breath fogged in sheets as he wrapped his coat tighter and grumbled to himself. Wasn't he too important for this? He was a rogue! A distinguished rogue! Surely he had people for this? And where were they? Unavailable. He was going to have sharp, possibly _barbed_ words.

He groaned as a rat skittered along his boot and left a dripping present on one of the toes. He supposed he should have been thankful that it hadn't investigated the green leg cuff that was invitingly bunched on his expensive shoes.

He began to pay more attention when he heard the sound of voices and feet. Flashlights danced in the distance.

Finally, he could conduct business and then get out of here. Perhaps stop off for takeout on the way home and grab several cups of coffee to warm him up. The cold really did bite to the bone down here.

He paused as an inconsistency reached his ears. The sounds of the approaching party had changed. They sounded panicked, terrified even. The flashlight beams that had been waving rhythmically and slowly now became frantic and one by one, they went out.

Uh-oh.

Time to leave. Post-haste.

He carefully and quietly slipped down into the shadow of the tunnel he'd come from. What had gone wrong? The police? Rival contractors? Rabid dogs?

No. After the last flashlight had blinked out,_ He_ appeared in the light that the old, dusty lamps of the station were giving out. He was more an outline in the darkness than a full figure but Edward was good at spotting him. It was a survival knack.

Well. Honestly, did he not have a homicidal clown to chase anymore? Did he not have a home to go to? Why did he have to make even the simplest of exchanges so hard? The brute must have believed that they were acting out of the ordinary to have followed them this far down. Not surprising, they can't even act innocent.

Edward eased further into the darkness as he watched his prey. Seemingly unaware of him. All it would take would be one shot. Just one, but he didn't trust himself. Not just his aim - which, given the poor light was less than optimal accuracy - but the fact that if he missed, Batman would easily know where he was, and Edward had plans. Plans he had no intention to jeopardize with a badly misplaced shot.

Besides, the bastard was probably wearing kevlar. All a bullet would do would be to enrage him.

Retreat seemed the best possible course of action. He was rather miffed that even under Gotham, Batman was on hand to ruin a rogue's plans.

He made to move back when he felt the rumble that shook the old, badly-made station. His watch said that it was the midnight coach to East Gotham but there was a louder rumbling coming up behind it. The ceiling was raining dust and spores.

This really was a shoddy construct, even for the mob.

The next few seconds were horrible and filled almost exclusively by Batman as he ran from the plywood construct and straight towards him. He didn't stop or even looked surprised at seeing Edward. He continued on and plowed straight into him, painfully. He felt it akin to being hit by a train. It had that level of unstoppability. Edward didn't even slow him down that much, Batman continued on throwing him left and right and nearly strangling him as he dragged him bodily away from the avalanche of rock.

When things had finally died down and he finally had time to process more than just images and pain, he found himself sprawled across the tracks with Batman looming above. The station that was due to be his exchange point wasn't visible, it was obstructed by rock, from floor to ceiling.

'Riddler, are you alright?'

Had he- had Batman just saved his life? He must have done because death should not feel like suffocation. Whatever armour that walking tank wore, it was heavy and crushing him.

God-_damn_ it!

'Get off of me you idiot! You weigh a ton!' He wheezed to the best of his venomous ability.

Was that a smirk on Batman's face? 'You're fine, Nigma.' A hand roughly descended on his collar and hauled him up. Edward was in no position to fight back, considering everything hurt. Batman hadn't been gentle and he was sure one or two of those rocks had made an impact on his suit, but he'd have a hard time telling, the whole thing was covered in dust and dirt.

He _hated_ Batman! Hated him!

Next time, he was sending a lackey to get dragged here there and everywhere by an inept rescuer in a bat suit!

* * *

><p><em>I've never seen him that mad since...Since the last time he had to deal with Joker! Honestly, the anagrams I did understand were pretty...heated. No-one likes admitting Batman - that menace - saved their sorry lives. <em>

Well. Here we are. Magical rule #44. The last one. I never thought I'd make it here. I'll be honest - I have no idea how to end this. I really don't want to! But I said forty-four and no more and I think we went out in style. Batman saves Edward from a fate worse than being eaten by Croc! Which, coincidentally, was the last time Batman facilitated a rescue of our dear Riddler.

Since this is goodbye I feel I should thank the three guest writers who wrote so enthusiastically for this series. To** scribblescribblescribble**, to **Bat-teen28** and to** L.D. Eddy** I say a massive thank you. Without you three, I probably would have stalled long ago. You guys rock!

To my wonderful reviewers, watchers, favouriters, thank you as well! Without such prompting I would never have dragged myself out of my pit to continue week after week.

And uh, I'm pretty sure I've got a bounty on my head for the things I've been doing to dear Eddums...Maybe it's time to take an extended holiday and possibly dye my hair...

Thanks for making it to the end with me!

~Stitcher.


	46. Index

Index:

#1 Take the simplest route out of a building.**  
><strong>

#2 Alliances never last **  
><strong>

#3 Always have a backup plan **  
><strong>

#4 Don't underestimate the enemy. **  
><strong>

#5 Appearances can be deceiving

#6 Joker's plans often change

#7 Trust no-one. **  
><strong>

#8 Anything can happen. Improvise. **  
><strong>

#9 Stack the deck.

#10 Use any available weakness**.**

#11 Give Batman distractions. **  
><strong>

#12 Follow through on your threats. **  
><strong>

#13 Mothers are unpredictable. **  
><strong>

#14 Question the pills. **  
><strong>

#15 Be in possession of all the facts. **  
><strong>

#16 Emotions should never factor in. **  
><strong>

#17 Do not interfere with other's plans. **  
><strong>

#18 Encrypt your data. **  
><strong>

#19 Practice makes perfect. **  
><strong>

#20 Know your enemy. **  
><strong>

#21 No-one should know about the hideout. _**  
><strong>_

#22 Always have a getaway plan. **  
><strong>

#23 Be wary of Tetch and his tea_**. **_

#24 Do not go into the sewers alone. _**  
><strong>_

#25 Crane can poison you any number of ways. **  
><strong>

#26 Jester is never unarmed.

#27 Don't cheat at the Iceberg.

#28 Always carry a weapon. **  
><strong>

#29 Do not provoke the Bat. _**  
><strong>_

#30 Surveillance. **  
><strong>

#31 Female Psychopaths are dangerous._**  
><strong>_

#32 Mental breakdowns are for the weak. **  
><strong>

#33 Cobblepot is not to be trifled with. _**  
><strong>_

#34 Kill only when necessary. **  
><strong>

#35 Expect the unexpected.

#36 Think three moves ahead.

The 10k Interlude

#37 The GCPD aren't all incompetents. **  
><strong>

#38 Never trust technology.

#39 Take note of your surroundings _**  
><strong>_

#40 Birthday presents can be threatening _  
><em>

#41 Don't pick the dumb ones

#42 It's never too good to be true

#43 pick your fights

#44 Always send a lackey


End file.
